Passion Play
by oldfashionedromantic
Summary: On the night before she was wed Christine returned to Erik but this time when she woke to swear her love he was there. How will this change things? Will become alternate LND story ErikxChristine like always. Chapters posted weekly
1. Prologue-Memories from a Dream

**This is oldfashionedromantic and I'm back to my old tricks! I tried new styles but they just didn't work for me. So here we go back to the way I started only slightly less dark.**

Prologue-Memories from a Dream

Christine sat bolt-upright in one of the large bedrooms of the De Chagny château, her body covered in a cold sweat and shimmering with water. Her beautiful strawberry –blonde hair felt sticky as she attempted to run her fingers through it, her curls glued to her shoulders and seemingly thicker than usual. She looked around the room with her forget-me-not eyes wide and struggling to see in the dark, searching…searching. Peering painfully for a man not there, her ears were perked up to listen to the sound of his voice, that calm and soothing tenor which had served to lull her to sleep every night. Nothing, the room was as silent as the grave.

It was in that moment that she realized it was nothing more than a dream and she, being the little girl that she was deep inside burst into tears. Beside her, her fiancé snored loudly, a trait she found rather annoying. It was not so much the sound that she abhorred it was just that Raoul was such a heavy sleeper that he never woke up when she had one of her dreams. He almost never woke when she cried in the night over the springtime thunder and lightning. Though he knew she was terribly frightened of them, Erik would have woken immediately and saw to whatever she needed right then and there.

Erik would have battled an entire army and then some just to stop her from being scared. He would have gone outside and squirted the garden-hose at the sky attempting to extinguish the quote on quote 'blasted thing that dared upset his angel.' True he might have gotten struck by lightning and…probably would have died but he would have gone out just the same. Not to mention he would most likely run to the store in the middle of the night and buy every pair of ear-muffs he could find. Erik would throw them at the sky, demanding the whole sky to do his bidding and stop that offensive noise.

The picture of Erik doing these things caused her to giggle out-loud though she tried to muffle it with her hand it got louder. Raoul groaned and draped his arm heavily over her midsection. Christine did not like this really, not that she minded being held by him. She didn't, in fact she usually liked it. Especially on cold nights like this she would sleep in Raoul's arms and feel quite safe. His beautiful sculpted body was always strong and warm and sometimes just watch him sleep, marveling at the beauty of her golden-haired white knight But tonight his arms seemed too hot, looking down at his beautiful face seemed almost…_sinful_ wicked even as though she were committing some infidelity.

It was then the picture of an ugly man in a mask came to mind his raindrop eyes, filled with tears.

His voice…his beautiful voice so shattered as he cried out, "It's over now the music of the night!"

The crash of the broken mirrors rang in her ears even now. Why even now did it make her want to run back to him despite everything he'd done and wipe the pain from her face. She heard the crunching of the broken glass he had no doubt shattered from his pain. His tears as she looked back at him, singing with Raoul the very same words that had shattered his heart the first time. Tears smarted in the young ingénue's eyes and she wiped

_"No_," she thought, "_don't think about Erik…whatever you do, do **not**__think about him."_

Tears began to pour down her face silently as she remembered that horrible night when she had been forced to choose between one man and the other. It was of course a choice she did not want to make because really it was impossible. How did one make such a choice and have a clear conscience afterwards. How could she at the age of sixteen have the power to make someone live or die, to make or break the heart of two men who offered her their undying devotion? But of course she knew who she would pick, it was obvious. As her father used to say when I would get sad over one of his made-up tragic love stories, 'when two men love a woman one will get hurt no matter what.'

Christine did not understand but then no one would have expected her to. After all being seven her mind was full of happy-ever-after with dreams of Princes to sweep her feet into the sunset. She did not understand what he meant and did not understand why anyone needed to be hurt for any reason. Her father had given her that trite answer of 'you will understand when you are older.' Daddy was right as usual. Reality hurt sometimes and sometimes the things one fantasizes about are not to be touched.

Sadly Christine's overindulgent father had never taught her such and Christine now understood when she looked from one man to the other and reached for the switch. She knew what she had to do and as much as it hurt her. Christine knew that to save Raoul she would have to crush his heart, so she turned to look at him with an apologetic look in her blue eyes.

Christine turned the scorpion and turned to Erik trying to force a smile that never met her eyes. Her fiancé let out an anguished cry of, "No! Please Christine just let me die, I beg you!"

Christine shook her head, "I'm sorry," she said and kissed that disgusting face tenderly.

It was a simple gesture but the only one she would ever give him, she tasted the salt of his tears on his cheeks, trickling down his face. The beautiful young woman heard him gasp in the most pained pleasure she had ever heard. Had no one ever touched this pitiful creature with love? It was almost enough to make her feel pity on him, for the briefest of moments she wanted to hold him close and ease those pleading lines from his eyes and mop those tears. Christine would have lost herself in the only beauty he had, such unusual silver eyes. In his pleading adoration it looked as though the moon had been captured in his eyes. Or perhaps the greyness of the rainwater had been sopped up in them. Such beautiful longing eyes

Her reverie was broken by Raoul's sob, "No! Lotte please don't give him your life I can't bear this anymore! Just let me die knowing you are free to live the life you were meant to live!"

She turned to give Erik a pleading look but he did not say a word. She then remembered that he loved her and forced tears causing him to look at her. He seemed puzzled but unsympathetic as his dark triumphant laughter filled the grotto. Erik knew he had won, that Christine would forever be his. Knowing this he bid her one last look in the blue eyes of her lover so beautiful and perfect…so perfect. Erik hated the Vicomte so very much that it was not even funny and most of all he envied the man. Oh the bitterness of jealousy! The Phantom sighed knowing that he with his world of light would have her heart, oh misery which tore at his heart. But perhaps all was not lost…perhaps now he could force her to love him and in time she would love him a little.

He allowed her one last look as a cry of, "please let me say goodbye to him…" she wept.

Erik looked at her noting the resignation in her blue eyes and knew She would do anything…_anything_ if only the monster would have mercy and let her hold her sweetheart one last time. The ingénue stared at him for a moment; awaiting the other's reaction, fearing his wrath should he believe her actions to be nothing more than a ruse. The man made no move save for the slightest twitch of his dark silver eyes and a slight movement of his lips. His thin lifeless lips forming words that she could not catch, she watched him stare for a moment. Hoping he would remain calm by her decision that he would not fall to a black mood.

Erik sucked in a sharp breath that rattled harshly around the hollow underground grotto. The Phantom flexed his right palm, clenching and unclenching his black-gloved fist. With an anguished cry he yanked the lever down that would release the rope around the young lover's neck. Raoul dropped into the ankle-deep water, gasping for breath and rubbing his throat to ease the pulsing throb left by the rope. Christine covered her mouth with the palm of her left hand, while running to the Vicomte, her right arm opened to wrap around him.

The young man gripped her hard and kissed her lips as though he would die if he did not have her lips one last time. Christine was so captured in the familiarity of her betrothed's embrace, for a moment she forgot the presence of the broken-hearted onlooker. Erik turned his head away in respect for the couple, inwardly crushing the pieces of his heart. Christine sighed and returned Raoul's kissed but for a moment was still lost in the sensation of Erik's lips that brushed hers. She pulled away from Raoul, released him and went over to the monster.

"Come here Christine," his voice once so soothing came out in a defeated drone; he cupped her face in his frigid hand as he turned to Raoul. The Phantom met the young man's eyes his own filled with a pitiful resignation "Erik understands now, he knows Vicomte that it is for your sake she does not shy away from his touch. Take her now, take her and go away. But Erik has one last request…" they looked at him, "Erik would like a hug that's all."

The deformed man smiled sadly as she gave him a hug, tentatively returning the gesture. Tears came down his face like the dripping of the leak in his roof, each _drip _like a solitary tear beating to the rhythm of the dying love she never gave him. Christine, without knowing what she had done had removed his mask again and was touching the skeletal holes in the marred flesh of his face. Erik closed his eyes and pressed her hand to his cheek, not wanting the moment to end. He cried then when he felt her lips brush the spot she had touched.

The pain in Erik's eyes as he let her go, as he had placed the plain gold ring on her finger begging her to return to him just one more time. So that he would not die alone and that her hands and **her hands alone** would be the one to bury him. Christine had agreed of course, at that point she would have agreed that his cat was a dog in costume if only to get out of there. At that time Christine would have done anything to be in the arms of her beloved Raoul. Happy to escape that underground world where nothing lurked but endless darkness and a madman ruled.

Beautiful voice or no she would not stay with this ugly man…this monster…this _freak_. Why should she, after all the man had lied to her for nine years, never telling her that he was a man until he thought she would love him. As if she could love a man like that! A lying murderous drug addict who probably meant to kill her the moment he got angry. He was the devil incarnate, a deceiver, a murderer and a man who slept in a coffin. The Phantom indeed, he was no more a Phantom than the Angel of Music. Worst of all was the realization that now she had to grow up. That daddy lied to her and that her angel was nothing more than a story meant to please a dreaming child.

Christine sighed and snuggled into Raoul's arms determined to forget about _him _and have her fairytale ending in the arms of the man she loved. The man she had always loved and always would. But as it so often happened she began to dream again, as she did every night. And just like always it was the same dream; she was back at the opera in the dressing room she had won from Carlotta on the night of her big debut. She was as beautiful as ever still in her costume from Hannibal and the door opened with a soft click. Raoul would walk in now and reminisce about their childhood and offer to take her out to dinner. Despite her protests about her tutor he refused to take 'no' for his dinner invitation and left to get his top hat.

It was her favorite dream of course but tonight there was something felt wrong. For one Raoul said nothing as he did not advance into the room nor did she hear the quiet thump of his dress-shoes as they waltzed confidently over to her. She turned to see him but found no one there. But she could have sworn that this was the part where her future husband walked in to dazzle her with his boyish good looks and incomparable charm. She looked down and saw on the seat of the other chair a single red rose and she of course picked it up.

Christine was staring at the rose tied with a black silk ribbon from the man that Madame Giry had said was pleased with her. It was indeed a very beautiful and paid no attention to the oncoming guest. Christine had gone through this scenario a thousand times; soon her future husband would walk in and smile at her in his charming, educated way. But when she looked up it seemed that her darling love was changed. Raoul's blonde locks so fluffy and breezy had turned to thin black things draping limply over his head and was as flat as a board. His hands that she had remembered to be smoothly warm and strong were now as cold as ice.

The hands which held her were just as strong but none of the warmth of his hands seeped to her shoulders. Perhaps he had gone out in the spring weather and caught a chill? It was when she looked up and saw no face that she was panicked. Of course, the man _had_ a face, he was not headless but she could not _see _his face. All she saw was the mask which covered his whole face. As clear and cutting as the moon and the pained silver eyes aglow with fierce possessive love and a sense of longing that would break one's heart if they were not careful.

It was then that it hit her like a good punch to the gut. It was not Raoul but the man she had once called 'angel.' He looked at her with his eyes of the moon and when he sang silently it reverberated in her mind like that of her own dreams. _He'll_ _always be there singing songs in her head. _He cupped her cheek in his icy hand and she found herself mesmerized by those wolf's-eyes. What he said was as calm as the seaside at summertime but he held that note of mystery. She met his gaze with a look meant to be one of fear and loathing. For surely after all he had done he deserved no sympathy. But all she could do was meet his knowing eyes with a curious sense of wonder.

Erik reached up to make her look at him and spread his arms wide as though he meant to offer her a hug. She rose to her feet compelled to do so by some black magic taken over her. The other did not move save for the slightest twitch of his lips. Then his voice boomed in a tenor no doubt meant to make a rival of the very angels. His voice at first a soft knowing whisper but then rising in words and volume until it filled the room.

_"You know his love is not enough…_

_ You know he isn't what you need…_

_You know you're made of finer stuff…_

_I think on that we're both agreed…_

_It's time to leave him in the dust…_

_It's time be who you should be…_

_It's time to do now as you must  
>and set the music in you free.<em>

_And music, our music  
>Will swell and then unwind!<br>Like two strands of melody  
>At last entwined.<em>

_Fulfill us, complete us  
>Make us full<br>Seal our bond forever more  
>Tonight, for me,<br>Embrace your destiny!  
>Let me hear you sing<br>Once more."_

Christine woke again only this time in a fit of tears as she realized that she needed closure more than anything. It was the only way he would no longer haunt her She knew of course that according to the papers that Erik was dead, but then knowing her tutor he had some trick up his sleeve. The beauty looked down at her sleeping lover snoring away wondering if she should write a note for him or not. Deciding against it, because it would break his heart, to the core if he knew what she intended to do this night. Not to mention absolutely forbid it which would- knowing her temperament, as well as her penchant for not obeying orders, mingled with her curiosity… her pull towards Erik (neither one of them were quite certain as to the reason for this) it was indeed a bad combination. A combination would result in a terrible fight. A fight that would certainly result in the end of their engagement of their lives together…

She leaned down and kissed his eyelids tenderly and took one last look at his sleeping face. Then, with silent tears dripping down her pretty face the ingénue tied up her hair in an evening-hood and her too-small fur-lined cloak. The young girl made her way to the De Chagny carriage where she apologetically woke the driver and rode off towards the opera. Why she went back she could not explain the only thing she knew was that she _was _going back. Back to a world of darkness and a madman who she knew would haunt her forever… whose passion and fury she could not resist…

**I decided to repost this and finish it as I am very proud of it. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 1- The end of a fairytale

Chapter 1- The end of a fairytale

Christine rode on and on into the rainy night with no thought but what she was doing… how wrong it was but how right it felt. She could not explain why she was there or why she was returning to the last place she ever wanted to see again. The place she had sworn to forsake forever and furthermore had sworn to her future husband never to go back to again. In the distance the beautiful mansion was dark save for the library where Mademoiselle Keen, the head maid was no doubt educating herself. She was a sweet young woman, only three years older than Christine and very efficient at her job.

It took her a few minutes to remember that her name was Mary, ah yes poor sweet Mary. The only fried she had in that big house other than Raoul. Kind and innocent and painfully shy the young woman reminded Christine of herself. Mary being the young girl that she is was quite the romantic. She was always dreaming of finding that one true love of her own, expressing playful envy at Christine's upcoming nuptials to Raoul. Christine had often assured her that although she had neither parents nor education Raoul would give her a dowry to order to get a man just as well-off and kind as himself.

"Oh Madame I cannot ask for the master to do something like that. I am nothing but an orphan worse a lovechild." Mary blushed shyly.

"Nonsense, Mary I'm the daughter of a poor violinist and a blind dreamy old woman." Christine revealed her secret to her fried with a little twinkle on her blue eyes.

She flashed a sisterly smile at the twinkling light in her brown eyes, "Oh of course Madame." The maid bobbed a curtsy.

Christine shook her head, "How many times must I tell you to not call me 'Madame?' Please It's Christine and don't curtsy to me either. Now run along my friend I must get some rest before dinner, I feel rather drained."

When she had brought the idea up to Raoul the Vicomte was a bit hesitant, and rejected the idea at first. "Christine, I don't know, I mean it would be different if she was a woman of some levity but we are talking about an illegitimate servant here."

Christine shook her head annoyed; she really hated it when her fiancé went into diplomacy and things like that. Raoul did not know this but he was a, how did Mary put this…a lovechild and illegitimate or so his paternal grandmother said. Indeed her future in-laws seemed calm about their engagement were perfectly accepting. Of course she was surprised for her love had warned her that they would not accept her and that her station would be a problem and so on. Christine had thanked him for the early warning, kissed his cheek and followed him upstairs to bed. The young woman remembering the day she had discovered the truth about her future husband.

She had closed her eyes from a long crying spell from her ordeal with Erik; Raoul'd had trouble sleeping that night due to the summer heat. Her lover had held her gently whispering that haunting lullaby of his proposal in that sweet honeyed baritone that had soothed her so tenderly on the roof of the opera house. His warm hands were tangled tenderly in her curls as he whispered in her ear. Christine tried to focus on him, on the warmth and strength of his touch, on the loving words being whispered softly in her ear.

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude._

_Say you need me with you here; beside you…Anywhere you go let me go too…_

_Christine, that's all I ask of you…"_

Christine closed her eyes leaning against him, trying to relax enough to be soothed by her lover. Raoul restarted the song and wrapped his arms around her drawing her closer to him and she snuggled into him, warm and drowsy, moaning softly as he stroked her neck. Sleep at last overtook her and her lover, Raoul's snores rumbling into her neck. Christine sighed and let herself sleep, with the song still whispering in the back of her mind. Christine thought that tonight in the arms of her Knight she would be safe from dreams of any kind.

But it was not to be as she found herself in the arms of another man, his touch cold but his grip like steel. His silver eyes gleaming with a dark possession that made her tremble, beauty came from his lips. A haunting and terrible beauty as that booming tenor softened and rose with each swell of the music. His touch intensifying and tenderizing with the music as he called out in a smooth voice that she had passed the point of no return. Then the music slowed and his movements became almost as loving as Raoul's as his voice recited the proposal in an agonized tone.

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me save me from my solitude._

_Say you want me with you here; beside you…Anywhere you go let me go too…_

_Christine, that's all I ask of…you."_

He turned to look at her, his icy hand gripping the back of her neck with a fierce possessive torture. Erik tipped her chin to look at him and that moment she saw a man, not a monster but a poor lonely man so desperate for love. In the crowd Raoul snapped his fingers and the police loaded, cocked, and aimed his rifle. He looked ready to fire and she turned to Erik with the rawest look of guilt in her eyes. She reached up and, in a last attempt to save the man she had once called her angel, removed his mask.

People screamed and the women in the audience fainted in the arms of their gentlemen chaperones. Erik looked at her with one painful question burning in his raindrop-gray eyes as they stared into her blue eyes, 'why?' Then she heard a pop and Erik clutched at his heart as he toppled to the floor of the stage. Blood, the color of chocolate-flavored liquorish leaked out in a sickly puddle that soaked the hem of her dress. Erik was gasping, trying to speak as his life's-blood gurgled in his throat, trickled down his chin in one solitary drop.

In a pained gasp, struggling for words he said at last, "I… have… been… killed… for… our… love… Christine…"

She could not find her voice even though she tried with all her might to comfort the pitiful man on the floor. All she could do was sit there kneeling by him and allow him to wrap his cold deadly hand around hers. Christine shook her head and stroked the dark strands of hair from his face, humming to him softly as if he were a child receiving his first cut. The ingénue wiped the hot tears from his cheeks and kissed his clammy forehead. Erik's breath shuddered in his throat and his eyes closed, and then in one last breath he spoke, quite clearly before his angel's voice was snuffed out forever.

"May your handsome young lover watch over you now… and give you what I wish I'd gave you somehow…"

Christine cradled his head in her lap; the smile of peace at the tenderness she had given him in his last moment did nothing to ease the pang in her heart. The young woman leaned her forehead against his and let her tears wash his corps-like face. Her breath came out in great pained gasps as she apologized over and over for his loss and for her ignorance of the fierceness of his love. But it was no good; her teacher was as dead as his visage appeared.

"No…Erik no…" she mumbled aloud as she opened her eyes and searched the room.

"Mmm," Raoul murmured, not fully asleep yet, "Christine what is it?"

"Erik…" she sobbed.

Raoul mumbled and pulled her into his arms, kissing her hair. "Erik is gone my love, I'm here, you're all right. Now fall asleep…" Raoul's voice sounded as though he were already drifting off.

She had not slept well that night the dreams tormented her but she slept nonetheless because her body was so tired that she had no energy to try to stay awake. Her eyes would not open even if she forced them to. Christine let out a tiny snore without even hearing it, Raoul woke up slightly and she felt him smile indulgently into her hair. Christine felt him draw her close and then she knew nothing else until daylight warmed her eyelids. She woke up and heard people downstairs laughing cordially and when she came down the whole Chagny family was there, Raoul already chatting merrily with them about his beautiful bride.

Christine stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the beautiful family all sitting there sipping chamomile tea and eating English crumpets. They were all talking at once about how curios they were to meet the one Raoul called an angel of music. Her blue eyes shimmered with caution and she caught a glimpse of herself disheveled and sleep-mussed from the long night. The young woman shook her head and crept back to her bedchamber calling for Mary in frantic haste. She ran in her brown eyes worried and heavy with morning drowsiness.

"Yes Ma—I mean Christine, are you all right?" she asked.

"I need your help Mary Raoul's family is here and look at me I'm a mess!" she said.

Mary blinked and ran to Christine's side, trying to calm her down pressing her onto the chair in front of her vanity. She hummed a little folk-song as she combed out Christine's strawberry-blonde hair and handed her a warm washcloth to wash the crust of a poor night's sleep from her eyes before she met the glamorous people downstairs. People, Raoul had said would have trouble accepting her as it was. Mary opened her huge walk-in closet and asked her which dress she would like to wear. Christine looked at the beautiful tailored gowns in colorful rows before her and shook her head at them. She was about to select a blue one just the exact shade of her eyes when Mary suddenly presented her with a large white box.

"A gift from the master," She said adopting that formal servant's tone that Christine detested so much.

"Thank you," she replied and undid the violet ribbon keeping it shut.

Inside was a beautiful white gown made of silk and adorned with what appeared to be real silver on the front. She fingered the material, so soft and cool; when she held it to the light the shiny bodice caught the sunlight and held it. Christine smiled at its beauty, she was not materialistic but she did love it when her fiancé thought of her. The young girl had long since given up on asking him to stop spoiling her rotten. Christine turned to Mary and asked her if she would help her put the dress on, Mary's eyes smiled as she shook her head and did as she was asked. Her master did indeed like spoiling Christine and yet the woman remained as gentle and good-natured as if she were no more than a servant herself.

"You look beautiful Christine as always…" Mary whispered as she placed the final pin in her hair.

"Thank you Mary." Christine replied, "Well into the lion's den then…" she muttered to herself and descended down the hallway.

She stopped in the doorway as a hush came over the room and the whole De Chagny clan stared at her. Christine offered a shy smile, their stares making her uneasy as a man slightly older than Raoul; most likely his nephew Charles put down his cup of tea with a slow soft clank. Three young women gasped and the old woman smiled as though she had just seen a fairy for the first time. Raoul craned his neck to see the cause of the sudden silence in the conversation and his eyes glittered with pride.

"Good morning Raoul," she said timidly.

He spun on his heel and walked over to her, kissing her hands one at a time, "ah there you are little Lotte."

His grandmother stood up with a little closed mouth smile and walked forward to greet her with a glint of wisdom in her eyes. "Well if it isn't that little Swedish girl that gave my grandson such trouble."

"Trouble," Christine repeated paling a little as the old woman opened her arms to give her a hug. Raoul nodded at Christine's surprised look and she accepted the gesture.

"My grandson came down with a terrible fever after saving your scarf." She explained.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Madame…" Christine said a bit frightened of her next sentence.

"Oh nonsense child, it's not your fault if my Raoul is foolish." She gave her a motherly squeeze on the shoulder. "Now my dear would you mind coming into the parlor with me? I wish to speak with you privately." Christine looked puzzled for a moment but followed the woman anyway after another nod from Raoul. "You know my dear- what's your name again?"

"Christine Daaë Madame," she replied, as she poured two cups of tea handing one to Raoul's grandmother.

"Ah yes, the diva that brought the whole of Paris to their knees, myself included you know." She said.

Christine had to smile. She was beginning to like this woman.

"Ah yes, I attended the opera regularly before that ugly man burnt it down." The old woman replied.

Christine blinked suddenly offended for no reason, because Erik was indeed ugly as sin still she was peevish about the old woman's criticism. What did she know of Erik's ugliness when her beauty had long ago faded? Christine sipped her tea, she should be agreeing with her, she knew but Christine just couldn't bring herself to do it.

"He's not _tha_t ugly…" she said feeling the need to defend her teacher.

The old woman patted her hand with an indulgent gleam in her eyes, "Oh what a sweet little girl you are! Pretty too, but of course you know he is…and what a bastard too –forgive my poor language- carrying you off like that!"

"He only did it because he loved me…" Christine muttered under her breath.

"What was that dearie?" The other asked.

"Nothing," Christine said quickly.

The old woman seemed to nod in approval, "you know you remind me very much of Raoul's mother. "

"The Comtesse," Christine replied confused, she had seen pictures of the woman before and there was no resemblance.

"Oh no, no my dear not _her_!" she laughed in that trademark old-woman's ho-ho "Did Raoul not tell you?"

"No…" Christine looked slightly injured, "He didn't tell me anything."

The old woman patted her hand, "Of course, he didn't! How silly of me! He can't tell you things he knows nothing about now can he?"

"I suppose not, but then how can he not know who his own mother is?" Christine asked.

A spark of indignation lit the old woman's eyes, "My dear you do not seriously think that we should tell the poor lad that! I mean think of the shame of it all, the damage to his reputation!"

"Forgive me for asking my lady but how should his mother damage his reputation? Why should he not know?" Christine's eyes were wide with childish innocence.

Her expression softened slightly at the tone of Christine's voice, "I'm getting to that."

"I beg your pardon Madame…" Christine cast her eyes down in contrition, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie-jar.

The old woman went on, "His father, my son and only child the great Philibert, Comte de Chagny was not in love with Raoul's mother. Not at all she was pretty and good natured and had born him three children. But the real love of his life was Alice Chatton."

"The actress you mean the one most famous for her role as Juliet?" Christine asked surprised, the dowager Comtesse smiled.

"You've heard of her then." She said coolly.

Christine nodded of course she had heard of the great Alice Chatton. Her stage name Goldie-Locks. Goldie was a shimmering beauty with golden hair, beautiful soft blue eyes and a wily innocence that drove the men to madness. Of course she could see just what happened in her mind's eye. But then she could not be Raoul's mother, everyone knew the Comte was a steady and sober man. Raoul had indeed told her that, he was exquisitely polite to women but she had always thought this just a part of his excellent upbringing.

"But why would the Comte commit an infidelity? From what Raoul said He seemed like such a faithful and romantic man." Christine said, puzzled

The old woman laughed, "Romantic my son was but faithful he was not, worse though even though she was the most famous seductress in Paris she had a very delicate heart."

"Oh?" Christine asked, her eyebrows rose to her forehead.

She nodded bitterly, "Very delicate indeed my son fell in love with her just like every other man in the audience that night. He all-too-quickly forgot his vows to his wife. Alice was all too happy to receive his attentions." The old woman looked sour for a moment.

Christine nodded saying, "I can imagine."

"The problem really was that Celeste was pretty indeed but she was…well shamefully ill in the heart." She looked sad.

"Forgive me, but I'm confused Madame. But how was she ill?" Christine asked.

"My son's wife did not love him it was an arranged marriage. She loved someone else." She said with an it-does-not-matter wave of her hand.

"I see." Christine replied not bothering to ask who it was.

"Anyways," the Comtesse continued, "The hussy ignored the wedding ring gleaming on his finger. She seduced my weak-willed womanizing son with no trouble first in one of the bedrooms of the great Château and then in the summer cottage he kept for holidays. Hell it became her house altogether and he came time and time again while his wife was having one of her 'bad days'. It was not long before little Raoul was born with all of his mother's beauty and poor Alice died in childbirth."

"I see, Madame, I hope you do not mean that I am a hussy who has seduced your grandson for my own purposes?"

"Oh no, but let me just warn you. Her beauty was not the only thing Raoul was born with. He has his mother's delicate heart. One thing I will say for Alice is that she did love my son, she honestly did. With all the other men she protected herself but with him she begged him to conceive with her." She said, "Raoul's love, like hers is not easily given but _very easily broken. _Now off you go…"

Christine nodded and went out lacing her fingers through Raoul's; he turned to her with a boyish grin. "I love you." She whispered.

"Always Little Lotte and when we're married our life will be perfect." He bent down and gave her a small kiss.

She was leaving her life behind. Once again there she was, going back into the lion's den and when Raoul woke she would break his love and his delicate heart. Destroy his love and end their dreams. There was no explanation other than this draw, _this pull_ back into the world of music and fading lights. Christine remembered the magic, the mystery, the glory of the roar of the thunderous applause of the huge crowds as she waded in a pond of roses. Her eyes were closed before she knew it, not in sleep but in memory.

The young girl remembered the opera, the night she saw Raoul in her dressing room. Erik saying in a jealous voice that Raoul was nothing and she had best forget about him. Her night with Erik when he had ran his hands salaciously over her body and the sight of the gown so painstakingly made just for her. She remembered what he'd told her.

"_Hearing is believing, music is deceiving, hard as lightning soft as candlelight…_

_Dare you trust the music of the night?"_

Christine was so tired but sleep would not come. No rest for her this night at least, her body was awake and alive and her voice rose in her throat as though she would burst into song at any moment. She just told the chauffer to go on and on towards the opera house or rather what was left of it. In the distance she could see the outline of the once beautiful building now charred and still sparking from the last flickers of the shattered chandelier. They approached the opera house and the driver turned to her with a rather quizzical look cocking one of his bushy red eyebrows up to his forehead as if asking her if she was sure that she wanted to go there.

The young woman nodded and he pulled up to the wreckage and allowed her to step out. She turned to him. "Go back to the estate Pierre I will not return there tonight." _Or ever again. _She thought. With that she turned and walked into the ruins, finding the charred room with a broken mirror that would lead her to a man she had thought mad… the one man she had always dreamed of in all her fantasies…


	3. Chapter 2- The Despair of Erik

Chapter 2- The Despair of Erik

_Erik's POV_

"How I hate and despise you Raoul de Chagny."

My voice repeated the nine words which had become my mantra as I lay awake and alone in the small woodland cottage. My voice that even my mother had found beautiful now raw and more of a croak than the voice of the angel of music I had been once named. I repeat the words again and again lying on my little cot and staring at the ceiling. This is how I spend most of my days lately just staring at the wooded planks above my head and listen to the sound of the birds. I have been here for three months waiting to die…

Tears leaking down my face as my continuous sobs go unheard echoing in muffled wooden walls. I think of my beautiful home destroyed by those dogs that would see me in the gallows come morning. Those that would sooner laugh then even allow me the luxury of death preferring to torture me instead. I lay here coughing and sputtering from a lasting cough given to me from the long nights of despair as I passed my handkerchief over my brow. The memories of that painful night when the only kiss I have ever been given was really more of a piteous gesture. Little reminiscent than one of the love that I so desperately crave. Her voice haunts me, but worst of all is my last sight of her forever burned in my mind.

I had watched them leave me heard her voice as it sang to the boy and it rang through my ears. I looked on and on as the boy pressed his body closer to her. His perfect, perfect body so like that of a prince from a fairytale. I looked at his beautiful self and turned to the cracked mirror where my horrible visage looked back at me. My open skull, my cracked nose so twisted as to be grotesque beyond words. I put my face in my hands and cursed the Vicomte... I hate him... the man had everything that a man could want, the most beautiful woman in Paris at his side. The only woman I have ever loved.

When at last she had departed I looked around my home and though my vision was blurred through my tears I could see the wreckage my anger had caused. My home is destroyed, my clothes are tattered and filthy, but I no longer cared. Why should I when everything I have ever lived for no longer exists… in my life anyway. No, better to just lie here and think, reflect over that one brief time when I might have been loved for myself, that one time when I had dreams and music and an angel of which to focus my passion on. But that time had long ended, it ended in this very house in the very room where I had created everything of beauty that I had ever made.

Ashes, the pictures of Christine are scattered about all over the place, some wetted with the greenish muck of the lake water causing the golden hue her hair so painstakingly colored with my finest ink…her hair so beautiful having the purity of rubies just dully entangled within the weaves of her curls. The greenish water splotched it and destroyed its already feeble imitation of her beauty. It's impossible for one to truly capture the beauty of Christine such as she is.

I closed my eyes trying to block out the sight but then an even worse thought pooled in my mind. Her with _him, _I wonder what they're doing right now… Was he sitting with her at his side or with his head resting in her lap as she stroked his hair? Was she singing him to sleep, kissing his face? Were they holding one another as they kissed passionately over and over? Was she sitting in his bed beside him with her head on his human chest? I picture her with him and her in the wedding gown I made her at the altar of some grand and gothic cathedral.

I see in my mind's-eye the Vicomte standing there with his back to the crowd wanting to be last one to see her. The Comte walks her down the narrow path in his beautiful tailored suit and handed her off to his brother. They exchanged a kiss on the cheek and then she was holding a bouquet of roses as beautiful and golden as her hair. The ring I gave her twinkling on her finger in the sunlight as she entered a world of light when she would give up her music and her career forever to become a breeder.

The thought of her and her boy is a painful thought indeed! As I lay here thinking of the kiss they had shared on the rooftop. Where she had used the gift I had so painstakingly given to her to shun me. Her loving mouth that had once called me an angel was now cursing me saying that I was so ugly that she could not even look at me. But worst of all was the painful kiss she had placed on my poor face. She would never kiss him again and I knew she was kissing Raoul right at this moment.

A picture forms in my mind of them. His arms were around her and he whispers about the wedding night to come where their bodies would mingle in the picture of two angels. Her red-golden curls, her soft features, her forget-me-not eyes soft in the dance of candlelight, his pure golden hair rusty in its glow. Her body naked beneath the sheets of his canopy bed, her beautiful voice crying out his name in need, but then that passion was not as explosive as the one that I had given her. But nonetheless her lips would cry for him and afterward she would whisper goodnight to him.

Then not long after, maybe a year I could see her there singing to a fat-cheeked blonde child with her eyes, the next heir to the Chagny line. I found her eyes smiling as her husband kissed his child. Beautiful and sickeningly perfect while I did nothing but dream and weep for many hours and wonder how my love could have left me so. My mind told me that I already knew why and that I should stop asking ridiculous questions. She had left me because she did not love me. Simple as that and yet the thought of her crushes me… is it possible to die of love? I think so… even if it is not I _know_ it is possible is possible to die of torture, and what an exquisite torture this is!

Every night I am haunted by these unrelenting dreams. So much so that only physical pain can wake me now. If I looked like a freak before well I have made it worse with my constant beatings of myself. Sometimes even that is not enough and I must burn myself, torture my poor wretched body to the point where I can do is shiver as the instrument I was using falls from my hand. The sound of the object hitting my cold stony floor whether it is a piece of shattered glass or a blunt whip for a beating makes me cringe. There are nights I cut myself hoping to bleed out just to find some peace but it never works. So I lie here in pain both hating and loving the pain as it makes me sleep.

There is nothing I can do about lest the sleep I need to live never comes, but then maybe death would be a relief. Of course, due to my catholic childhood I am going to hell if this continues for suicide is after all what father Mansart and old fire-haired man of sixty wearing a black hat and wizard-like robe, had called the unforgiveable sin. It cannot be worse than this; I fear that I am already in hell, my own personal hell. Does the so-called 'good book' not say that one who commits an unforgiveable sin shall have the blood of their worst pain cast upon their head? If not it says something like that.

The thought does not trouble me, for surely any ring of hell would be more merciful than this. I would rather suffer the fires of the lowest ring than deal with the pain of loss anymore. I would rather be destroyed entirely, turned into a true demon than suffer any more of these dreams of a love that I never had. Oh the misery of it all, the torture of the endless remorse! I still see the beautiful girl who stole everything from me, my music, her voice, my very heart in its entirety worse my very soul. Everything I had to give and all I asked in return was her love… she could not give me even that but then again who could?

Love was meant for beautiful and pleasant things neither if which I am. But as ugly as I appear one fact is undisputable the fact that I am human and was born with all the needs and urges of a human male. In the end I am still a man who has all the feelings of the human race…perhaps even more so. Is it not true according to science that those who are hindered in one way are given other are given to heightened senses and emotions…as though in compensation for the shortcoming although in my case it is more of a pain than a pleasure. My 'compensation' is mostly in my brilliance of course but also in my imagination. I dream every night, such a beautiful and terrible dream that I had every night.

Christine is in the gown I made for her. For many days and nights I had longed to see Christine in that gown since the moment I laid my poor unworthy eyes on her beauty. Oh my wretched eyes, how greedy they are, how evil to dare cast themselves on her beauty. Christine has placed the veil on her head and now… she stands before me the vision of a living wife, so gorgeous no not gorgeous… it is not a word to describe her! Oh heaven of heavens, oh joy of joys, it is a pain and a pleasure to contemplate such a word!

Christine is coming closer to me, dressed in the wedding gown looking angelic and tired. Circles under her eyes tell me of the many hours she has spent singing to herself in order to induce the sleep that one so pure deserves. The dress looks lovely on her, white as the first drop of snow on Christmas morning; it flows delicately down her form so lovely it makes me weep that such a beautiful creature can come near one such as me. I, the wretch that I am! I, the opera ghost the poor unhappy Erik, one whose mother deemed him a corpse and could not bear to touch him nor even give a name.

Now Christine comes to me, timid and shy as she places her delicate hand on my icy cheek. Her hand is so warm on my poor neglected face, so tender and gentle, she raises her other hand to mine and laces her delicate fingers through my own. She kisses my cheek and turns to the Daroga who she is asking to be our witness, witness to what I wonder? Her eyes turn to match mine and she reaches up to touch me, tracing the pads of her tiny fingers trace the small bumps underneath my eyelids.

"You know," she whispered, "Your eyes are beautiful."  
>I choked back a mocking laugh, no part of me was beautiful and I knew Christine was trying to Of course this was impossible as my angel was incapable of lying. I shook my head only to realize that I was trying desperately to believe that she thought me beautiful in any way when only moments ago she had so rightly dubbed me as what I am…a monster, a freak and a pitiful creature of darkness so unworthy of her love that she needed God-given-courage to touch me. And then she kisses me, warm and passionate that she can't bear to let go of me.<p>

"I love you…" she whispered and kissed me all over my face.

But alas it comes to an end as it always does and I awake in the morning alone and full of heartache. Worse yet is the fact that there was a time when I would wake to the doting care of the two kind people I have ever met. That is over too for once again Christine has tortured me with her memory. It happened when I was ill as I often am and the little Giry tended me while her mother took a much needed nap. Madame Giry was snoring so loudly that it hurt my head and I tried to block it out but it didn't work.

"Ow…" I moaned as my head began to pound.

Her daughter came to my side with a tender tisk-tisk, "Poor thing." She said and wet a cloth for me.

"I don't need your pity!" I spat as she held it over my forehead.

"Shh," she whispered, putting one finger on my lips, "just rest."

"Very funny…" I said.

'Just rest', who did she think she was kidding? Still she shushed me and was mopping up the sweat from my forehead while I groaned with the agony of a splitting migraine. The dancer sat by my bed and washed my neck soothingly, causing me to close my eyes.

"Thank you…" I coughed belatedly remembering my manners she just smiled gently.

"No problem." She said kindly.

Then the most peculiar thing happened, she leaned down and kissed me on the lips. Apparently in the time she had spent tending me she had come to feel a certain kind of affection for me. The kind where a girl develops a crush on a man and has fantasies of an ever-lasting love that may or may not be returned. In her innocence had mistaken it for passion and I am ashamed to admit that I did not pull away from her. I was drawn in by the kiss and responded to it with equal shyness as I have never kissed anything before let alone had a woman kiss me…unless you count the inebriated slobbering of women of the night. It was a sensation that I should have found shocking and even grotesque for she is technically my nurse but then I am a man. A man so desperately starved for sex that my body responded automatically growing hard at her feminine touch. Her skin was soft and warn and so real, an actual woman was kissing me and in my arms.

"Mmm, stop it." I said wanting more than anything to quit before I did something I'd regret.

"Shh, it's only a kiss." She whispered

"But a kiss can elude to other things surely you know-"

"Oh would you just shut up!" She interrupted and kissed me again, causing me to groan.

She sighed into my lips and deepened the kiss and when I opened my eyes I noticed how lovely she was. Her blonde hair was tumbling down her back in cascade of straight golden weaves. Her lips seemed fuller from my kiss, her hands were delicate and tenderly touching me, warming me. But then her face began to change and her hair developed a reddish tint to it I closed my eyes and kissed her but then as is the way of a man on fire from another woman when he loved someone else I ruined it.

"Christine…" I said and she pulled away from me.

"Christine! Christine! Always Christine!" she shouted shrilly, turning on me, with anger and hurt in her eyes. When she sang her voice was strained and cold.

_"In Paris  
>when the mob surrounded you<br>who was there?  
>We were there<br>Where was she  
>When the law men hounded you?<br>Gone long gone  
>We stayed on<em>

_And who stayed with you helped you and advised you?  
>We stayed with you loved and idolized you<br>She betrayed you shunned you and despised you  
>She chose Raoul chose his beauty and youth<br>It's long past time you faced up to the truth!"_

"Enough!" I cried out, tears streaming down my face.

Her words were biting me in the worst way and they were true. She turned on her heel and walked out slamming my door hard behind her. Madame Giry woke and glared at me.

"What did you do to her?" she asked.

I said nothing because I had was not about to tell her about kissing her child, almost dishonoring her and then to top it off I had rejected her. All I said was, "Your daughter is in love with me…"

"Oh and you don't return it?"

"No… "

"Why?"

"She's just not Christine."

Madame then spun on me and smacked me so hard that my face bled. "Christine," she sneered, "my lovely daughter offers her heart to you and all you can say is 'she's not Christine.' Well here's news for you Erik, _she's not coming back."_

"I know, "I moaned, "Do you think I don't know that? I know I've lost everything that's ever mattered to me! "

She scoffed, "You are pathetic."

This was just too much for me, my blood was boiling and my rage came out in a ferocious roar. I shoved her against the wall so hard that her head slammed against the wood so forcefully that her head cracked viciously. I shook her savagely determined to shut her up, to lose my temper so much that I couldn't here her shouts of 'let me go you monster!' I slapped her so hard that she screamed and when I finally let go of her she turned on her heel and walked out.

"Go to hell Erik," she said, "I hope you have a horrible life. "

I watched her leave, standing their slack-jawed and horrified at what I had just done, realizing that I had just lost my only friend. I put my face in my hands and cried. Cried for Madame Giry the one person who had ever loved me unconditionally with all the heart and affection my mother never could. Cried for the little Giry and the loss of the gift she had offered me and most of all cried for Christine and my unrequited love.

_"My Christine…my Christine…lost and gone…lost and gone…"_

With these words I put my face in my hands and cried, lying down on the cot and slowly dying. I would never see her again and it was time to go.


	4. Chapter 3: Why can't the Past Just die?

Chapter 3: Why can't the Past Just die?

_Christine's POV_

It's close to Christmas and two days before my wedding to Raoul-or rather the time I was supposed to marry Raoul. Is it normal to feel like this on the eve before Christmas when one is to marry one's sweetheart? Lord knows I should be leaping for joy and dreaming of our perfect life together. I should be lying awake in his strong arms daydreaming about myself dressed in finery perfect family unable to sleep from excitement and yet I am not. Instead I am walking along the dark of the Paris Opera my fiancé's arms and home so far behind me now that when I look back all I can see are blackened remains of the once gothic building. I tried not to think too much as I walk on and on into the wreckage shaking like a leaf. My body is aching not in anticipation of the customary consummation of wedding- as it should be.

I am trembling with fear at the thought of what I was doing. I pictured Raoul in the morning, looking for me and the image made me miserable. Him running around the mansion calling for me, his driver telling him that I had left late last night and returned to the opera. He giving the man a small smile assuming that I have gone back to visit Madame Giry and Meg and later remembering that they had left after that terrible fire. He would then go after me and to find me with Erik would surely kill him for as he said that night, 'say you love him and my life is over.'

The thought that either way I was hurting one man or the other was a bitter pill to swallow but one I had to take. Kind of like that medicine that was given to ease the pain but only served to make it worse. But then it was the kind of drug that was addictive that one cannot quit for the high it gives you. A drug so strong that one hit will never satisfy you, that the pain didn't matter as long as you got your fix. My drug was the love of a man so evil that if he were to die the jaws of hell would open wide, but a man so in love with me that he would do anything for me.

I did not want to think anymore so I closed my mind and listened to the sounds of the night. It seemed that being an opera singer had heightened my sense of hearing. I could hear the sounds of a woman screaming loudly. Not in pain but in pleasure and I winced at the way her voice made an ear-splitting screech. It seemed that my time with Erik had made my hearing sensitive too and noises like screeching really hurt them. I gagged at the sound hating that someone was reviling the place with their wantonness and I only hoped they were not in my dressing room. I prayed they were not pressed up against the mirror that would lead me to Erik for surely he would hear it too. My angel was such a gentleman and did not need to hear such sinful things.

A yawn tore at me… my eyes as of right now were itchy and want to close up all on their own but I can't let them. No matter how tired I am my thoughts are frightened. My appearance reflects it too, eyes bloodshot from a lack of sleep from unpleasant dreams. I half-don't want to end, because then my time with my angel would have to end completely. I feel sick, my head pounds from tiredness but I must get to Erik or god knows what will happen. The man has always been cursed with horrible health. His depression surely did not help things at all and the longer I was gone the worse it would get.

The worse fear for me is that he shall catch a chill that could lead me to my death, pneumonia to freeze me to death or worse tuberculosis like my papa. I cringed as my eyes recalled the pail, withered form of Daddy Daaë as he lay on his bed at the hospice of St. Vincent de Paul. Lying on his back and coughing and choking back the sick-fluid as he tried not to vomit dying slowly as he did with blood coming from my mouth in ribbons mingled with great gobs of yellow-green mucus. I remember vividly the sight of him, that horrible day when my world came crashing do.

He was covered in nothing but a thread-bare blanket, little more than a rag, covered in holes and the trade-mark 'poor man's patch'. A patch made of nothing but outgrown trousers or faded dresses, but it was all we had. He had nothing else to bring with him save for an old picture of mother and his violin on which, I would play him lullabies. My skills at the instrument were as well as that of a cat learning to tap-dance but he smiled at me anyway and pretended to be asleep when I had finished.

**Flashback:**

The doctor was kind to my father but did not take to me much. He was just one of those men who did not like children. Always barking at me to get out of his way and often called me a pest. Daddy would try to chastise him for treating me that but he just didn't have the energy. Daddy would look at me with at me with his sad blue eyes just like my own, and wince in apology. Then more often than not the doctor would pull me away from him. He did not care that I cried for my papa, he would force me to go outside in the hallway and I would sit there listening to him cough. Tears leaking from my eyes as the doctor walked out of the room with a grim expression darkening his already sour face.

I tugged at his sleeve three times before he turned to me. "What do you want girl, can't you see that I'm busy?" he snapped.

His green eyes frightened me, they seemed to look right through me and chills ran down my spine. They seemed to see-through my body to my very soul. They seemed to find some unknown evil inside of me, looking at me with the piercing eyes of a green-eyed monster. I wanted to run from him as fast as I could, but then I also wanted to see my father. I knew that this would be the last time because even at the tender age of seven I could feel that dreaded urgency filling the air. I was trembling with fear of the doctor, goose bumps causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

Still I met his eyes squarely asking, "Can I go back to my papa now?"

Thankfully I was so innocent and adorable according to my father that even the doctor gave me a stiff nod of his scruffy head. "Yes, but only for a moment do you understand?"

I nodded and ran into the freezing room, my father was snoring through his nose and he looked so sick. His breathing was shallow and I knew it was close to the end when I came to his bed and gripped his already stiffening hand. He seemed to have felt my touch for he did his best to hold my hand in return. The very movement exhausted him and though I tried to smile at his sleeping face, my heart was slowly breaking. He wheezed when I kissed his sweaty brow, he opened his feverish eyes and raised a heavy hand to cup my cheek.

Seeing daddy like that made my eyes water and I laid my head on my knees trying to be quiet so I didn't wake him. His skin was white, so white he might have been a ghost and his dark hair was limp and stuck to his forehead from the sweat. Hardly the handsome and loving man who had told me such fantastic stories out of his head about everything and nothing in particular. His breath was a rattle in his throat and his brow ran with sweat. I wanted to kiss those horrible droplets away just as he had done whenever I had a fever.

More importantly I wanted him back… I wanted the man who had given Raoul lessons and set up private rendezvous for him and me and meetings in secret so we could hear all the gothic ghost stories his parents thought unsuitable. I wanted the man who on more than one occasion had snuck Raoul out of his home when he was on punishment for some reason or another. Mostly for fooling around with girls even at that tender age and other ungentlemanly conduct.

I looked at his ailing form and shook my head so angrily that my curls bounced like springs against my forehead and face. The _thing_ in the bed was not my father, I refuse to accept it! But then as I looked at the man I knew it was… there in his tattered clothes and ragged blanket laid my only friend in the world. Tears poured down my face and I sobbed loudly waking him just enough for him to unfold his weak hand and hold it out to me. I ran to his bedside and let him pull me into an embrace as I kissed his heart over and over.

His skin was icy and his coldness bit into my skin, I offered to give him my little coat but he pressed it back into my arms with a feeble shake of his head. I tried to tuck it around him anyway, but he shrugged it off and attempted to redress me in it. I helped him as much as I could but my body was shaking with fear. He offered me a loving smile and beckoned me to lean forward so he could kiss me. Daddy's lips were so cold that I shivered under their tender caress which I remembered so fondly. I wanted to warm him desperately and so I began to remove my jacket only to have him grab my arm and shake his head.

"It…is…cold…Little Lotte…you will…need your coat…" he said gasping between the short phrases.

"But papa, you're shivering." I whimpered, wanting desperately for him to take it.

"I'm shivering because I will soon see your mother." He said, I started crying, "Shh, it's only a dream, I often dream of your mother…" and he touched my face.

This part was true father had often dreamed of my mother since she died the year before. He would wake with her name on his lips. It was something that I had gotten used to but I knew better. I knew that he was saying goodbye to me and in moments he would kiss me for the last time. Still I forced a smile because I knew that he had missed her very much and that every night Daddy closed his eyes and murmured a quiet 'ow' as the pain wracked him.

The Doctor returned to the room and started tugging me away, "Time's up." He said.

I started crying because I hated all of this, I hated this cold room, the smell of cheap whisky and tonic. I hated the sound of the fluids as they dripped drop by drop into my father's arm. The sound of the rattling breaths in my father's chest and the clouds of drug-induced relief in his blue eyes, so fake that I knew the pain underneath them was one too great for it to mask. But most of all I hated this man for dragging me away from my daddy in his last moments. I did not want to go and he did not want me to either it seemed. He grabbed my hand with a strength that no one would have expected of a man so close to death.

"She is not going anywhere," He said, the doctor looked surprised.

"But Monsieur Daaë surely you need your rest…" The doctor argued.

"She. Is. Not. Going. Anywhere." He said a forcefulness to his voice.

"This little brat being here cannot be helping."

Papa glared at him, "She is not a brat." He snapped, falling victim to a racking cough.

"Of course," the doctor said in a voice oozing false compassion, "All I meant was-"

Daddy cut him off, "Monsieur , do you have children?"

The Doctor's brow wrinkled in disgust, "No." he said, "Horrid things children."

Daddy shot him another glare, "They are not and neither is mine, and I want her to be with me so I can comfort her."

"As you wish Monsieur," the doctor said and left me alone with him in that horrible room.

"Daddy, when are we going home? He said nothing for several moments just looked at me, "We're not are we?"

He gave me no reply, "Come now little Lotte, sing for me?" he asked with weariness clouding his eyes.

My first thought was to refuse his request because I was already on the verge of tears. I knew that if I broke down it would upset him and the doctor would send me from the room. But try as I might to suppress them a few betraying tears ran down my cheeks. Daddy put his hand on my face and looked at me with the most loving look he could manage and pleaded with me weakened eyes. Being a 'papa's girl' I nodded not deny him this even though my voice was clogged in my throat. Still my voice cracked and I stopped shaking my head regretfully at him.

"Please angel," he gasped noting my hesitation, "sing me to sleep…"

Not even as a child was I fooled by that one, did my papa think me a fool? Sing him to sleep indeed, more like a last request to hear his daughter's voice one last time. He was in his own way saying I love you before leaving this world –and me- forever. Of course being the daddy's girl that I am I laid my head on his chest and cried. He tried to hush me and tell me that he would see me when he woke. Another lie! Oh why did he have to lie to me now of all times? He must indeed think me stupid or at least too young to understand but he was wrong.

Still I nodded and began.

_"You were once my one companion  
>You were all that mattered<br>You were once a friend and father  
>Then my world was shattered<em>

_Wishing you were somehow here again  
>Wishing you were somehow near<br>Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed  
>Somehow you would be here<em>

_Wishing I could hear your voice again  
>Knowing that I never would<br>Dreaming of you helped me to do  
>All that you dreamed I could<em>

_Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental  
>Seem for you the wrong companion, you were warm and gentle<em>

_Too many years  
>Fighting back tears<br>Why can't the past just die!_

_Wishing you were here again  
>Knowing we must say goodbye<em>

_Try to forgive  
>Teach me to live<br>Give me the strength to try!  
>No more memories<br>No more silent tears  
>No more gazing across the wasted years<br>Help me say goodbye  
>Help me say goodbye!"<em>

"Thank you," he rasped, leaning forward with the last of his strength kissed me goodbye.

End Flashback

I shivered and pulled my too-small cloak around myself. This is the only thing I took from the mansion because Erik had given it to me when he had first become my angel. Oh there I was again thinking about him! But I just cannot help myself, oh lord I have become addicted to Erik haven't I? All I do is think of the man and worry over him. It was then that I realized something about myself…I realized that I have become a woman and am no longer Raoul's little Lotte. That my dream of a wedding to him was nothing more than one long gossamer veil of black silk on a snowy day. For though Raoul could offer me many things he could not offer me the one thing I love the most: music.

In the past I had told myself that Raoul was everything I wanted in a man and at one point I guess that was true. After all at the tender age of twelve when I had first kissed him by the sea how was I supposed to know that I would one day love somebody else? Wait, love, did I just admit that I love Erik? But then of course I would, after all he was a man and what a man! He had once awakened in me a passion that was both torturous and wonderful all at once. Madame Valerious had at one time told me that a girl becomes a woman when her passion was woken for the first time.

My body was weakening and I saw my old dressing room and jostled the charred, rusted door-handle. It came free easily and I found myself standing in the same spot where Erik had lured me into his underground world. The mirror was open slightly as though someone had been down there but this was impossible… wasn't it? Ugh I'm so tired I can't think straight! The sofa was still intact albeit charred and not as soft as it once was but I lay down on it anyway my body immediately relaxing obviously grateful for the break however brief. Next thing I knew I was snoring lightly, the kind where you are aware but unable to stop yourself. As I gurgled into one of the cushions I thought of Erik… praying he would be all right till morning…


	5. Chapter 4: The Persian and the Ingénue

Chapter 4: The Persian and the Ingénue

Christine felt his arms, so cold but growing hotter still with the heat of her skin. His embrace tender but gripping as it held her in place. She made a sound of need as he held her there, his skin now reddening with a shy virgin's blush. The ingénue kept her eyes shut, too modest to look at the man above her as he took her higher and higher towards the sky before she crashed with him to the ground. He gently tugged her face up to his own and indulged himself shamelessly in kisses, his lips warmed with her own, his strong fingers tussling her hair and mussing it terribly…not that she really cared much.

"Oh Christine…" he whispered, "I love you."

His voice was cultured and smooth those nimble, skeletal, hands so papery like but rough with the blistering of his work. She noticed how warm, how honeyed his voice was soft and gentle just as though he were merely waking from a pleasant sleep than the throes of lovemaking. Christine felt him open his eyes against her neck, felt their lashes flutter, wisp against her most sensitive spot causing her to giggle and him to laugh in response. Christine shifted in the bedclothes waiting for him to speak.

"Open your eyes Christine…" He whispered.

She did as he asked and those silver eyes gazed back at her with such an ardent devotion that tears welled in her eyes. He kissed her lips then shivering under them and then yanked himself away from her, suddenly looking wild and feverish as he pulled at the thick black hair. His raindrop eyes wild with a sudden agony so intense that it made her want to agree to anything he asked just to make him feel better. His eyes turned into hard steel when he looked at her, it was frightening and cold, but quickly melted into tears and swimming in torture and he fell at her feet like he used to.

"Why did you leave me Christine?" His voice echoed in a tone of unrelenting agony, "Don't you love me?"

"Yes…" she said.

"Then let me have you…" He whispered and turned out the light.

His silver eyes were filled with tears and the pain in them was palpable. Christine reached for him but he turned away and then he oddly started to bleed, his face dissolved into blue eyes and golden hair. Not Erik… Raoul…she ran to him and tried to cover the wound. His warm face was twisted with heartbroken pain. The wound opened further until it became a great, gaping chasm in his chest. A horrible blood-pumping thing right where his heart was supposed to be and then with tears in his eyes he reached inside it, where there came a horrible squishing sound. He then gasping out his last breath laid the two halves of his broken heart at her feet…

She screamed, picking up his heart as though she could put it back in and make him whole again. But then it shattered to fragments in her hands as though it were made of broken glass. Christine bent to pick up the pieces but they blew away in a chilling gust of eerie unfamiliar wind. His voice filled her ears, aching, tortured, and pitiable beyond reason. It was gut-wrenching to hear, no words, just a scream as though his soul. Christine sat bolt upright on the couch her body streaming with a cold sweat as she looked around the room. The ingénue blinked back the fog of sleep as she swore she heard the sound of movements in the empty room. Her eyes saw nothing but a blackness that was as thick and engulfing as it was dark.

She tried to forget the horrible image of Raoul tearing his shattered heart from his chest and the horrible wailing as it whispered the unspoken question of why she left him on the wind. Fortunately she was soon asleep again but then came to mind that olden-time expression of 'be careful what you wish for.' Another dream of a forbidden night with her tutor swept over her, he had her on the swan bed in her room. His nimble hands framed her body as they moved down, touching her holding her in place. His voice crying out as she rocked in those hands, him nursing her desire, feeding it until they both exploded.

The dream was so vivid that caused her to open her eyes suddenly alert and thinking of him. Her eyes flew to the open mirror and she crossed the threshold to the slimy, greenish-black pathway to that led down to her one-time angel and more recently her nightmarish addiction.

She could still hear an echo of her dreams of sinful passion most unbecoming of a pure young woman, who still has a virgin's innocence. Even now she thought she could just hear him saying he loved her, could still feel the coldness of his fierce embrace. Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped at them ferociously wanting to be a woman for once in her life. Raoul had often teased her about her innocence when really it was her naiveté about who she wanted in life…who she _was, _no _is. _ Her father would be shocked if he saw her now. He would look at her and say, 'who are you and what have you done with my little girl?'

He would reach up and cup her face, "When my darling, did you become a woman?"

She would have looked at him and said, "When I met my angel of music…."

Her father would wipe his eyes in teary-eyed shock, "But my child, surely the angel does not steal one's innocence."

Oh how he was wrong for she was no young girl who shied away from passion, an innocent wilted blossom just budding. He would be ashamed of her for the way she felt because he had always told her that sex was only an obligatory thing of marriage. That marriage was based on innocent love and that was why it was meant to last forever. A true marriage was based on innocent love, a mutual affection that would last through the ages, the kind of love where it was based on protection and tenderness. Someone like Raoul de Chagny, he had always wanted her to marry Raoul because of his 'prince charming looks and boyish charm'.

Daddy had often warned her that intensity would die whereas love would never fade if given for the right reasons. But daddy did not understand passion having married an innocent woman like her mama. Mama was so sweet and gentle, so calm and the type of happy homemaker that one might read about in the old-fashion novels by Jane Austin, a sweet and soft-spoken woman who never disobeyed her husband. Her father was happy with it, not because he had a superiority complex, but because he was a starry-eyed romantic fool. He enjoyed her disposition because he liked to imagine his wife as a beautiful damsel in distress. Her mama liked it the same way, often saying that she wished she had been born back in medieval times.

When asked why she laughed, "Because then my husband could carry me off into the glowing sunset of the evening as the stars wield overhead."

Her father had laughed and kissed her mother's cheek whispering, "Ah, but you always say I am your knight in shining armor as it were. "

She in turn, kissed him quickly on the lips, "you are my love, and I only meant that were we alive in that era you might've carried me off to the sunset."

"Ah, but my dear, if we were in that era our own love would be as epic as ever whether I be a pauper or a knight." Her father said.

"Oh?" Charlotte asked, raising her eyebrow in that whatever-are-you-talking-about way.

"The unfathomable love of the poor violinist fallen for the town's most beautiful lady." He grinned, "Oh the pretty verses I would write and oh woest me the torture of my forbidden infatuation."

Her father had dropped to one knee, as though he meant to make his wife an offer to renew her vows. Charlotte played along and pressed her hand, palm out to her forehead dramatically and swooned like a schoolgirl. He swept her off her feet again and then dropped to his knees, still cradling her. There was mischief in his blue eyes, almost boyish glee at the swollenness of her wife's well-kissed lips. Her mother reached up to brush the blonde sideburns with tender fingers, staring affectionately into his eyes.

"Gustave, _ma Cherie,_ you are truly a starry-eyed romantic fool!" she said.

Christine burst out laughing not out of humor but out of the infectious joy of the moment. The teenager let her father kiss her cheek before sending her off to play in the field and ride her pony. A smile on her face, the sound of her father's laughter in her ears and the promise of warmth when she returned as he drank his coffee by the fire and gestured for her to climb on his knee despite her age. She would climb up on his lap and he would sing to her as her mother worked at the second-hand piano, playing the tune with light, graceful fingers. Her father singing to her as he finished his coffee and brushing her forehead with his lips, even on that horrible night when her mama had died he had sung her to sleep.

She wanted that innocent time with daddy and mama again and no thoughts of a broken man awaiting her. No thoughts of anything but romance and gentle songs, peppermint by the fire and that time when Little Lotte was just a made-up character with an angel as her best friend. She did not want to be a woman…but most of all she did not want to love the man she did. Christine wanted Raoul, dear sweet Raoul with his innocence of who his beautiful delicate mother was. She wanted to be in love with him and hate her fake angel. God knows she wanted to hate him, God knows he deserved to _be _hated but the thought of hating him made her sick to her stomach.

But it was not to be, because as Erik had told her the night she had left him, true love was unpredictable. None of us can choose when, who and where we will love. The thought of loving him made her ill, not because the idea disgusted her because she had accepted it. It was the pain she felt every time she thought of him and those tears in his eyes… was true love supposed to make one sick? Christine had always thought that it would make one fly down the street and want to run into his arms like mama said. But perhaps that was just the romantic in her talking; it was something her parents had oft indulged in her.

As romantic as she was at heart, and even as her father had been she knew that he would not approve of Erik at all. Daddy Daaë would think him not only gruesome to look at but a sinful leach, trying to corrupt his innocent daughter. He would be shocked to find her in the throes of love and an almost sexual passion so fierce that it almost made her a woman in the physical sense. Christine blushed as the memory of that candlelit night and honeyed voice took her away, how his hands were embracing her and holding her in his so-called sweet intoxication. The smoothness of his silk mask as it crinkled under her touch, so cool, so soft… and so unnatural compared to his stubble-roughened cheek.

It was a scene her father would rage at, that was certain. Her father would then turn her into Rapunzel and lock her away from all men. She would then grow up in isolation, pining for the man she loved till she grew too lonely to bear it. Christine pictured herself reaching into the cabinet and withdrawing a wicked looking blade. She would turn into Juliet, killing herself and leaving daddy to weep and clean the mess.

There was her over-active imagination again and she shook her head, her thought drifting back to Erik. She recalled his music, his love; it had turned her into a woman and had frightened her. But had thrilled her, fed her curiosity and lulled her into the most sinful trance. She always prided herself on her virtue, her purity. But when Erik was around she seemed to forget her pride and everything, in a total hypnosis and throw herself into his arms in reckless abandon.

The thing that stuck out in her mind and mercifully but most of his entire wrath when she had first seen that gruesome sight. The crying, the groping of his hand as he held up a candle to that exposed skull and rotted-out flesh just so that it glowed in an almost sinister way. But then, that sweet, booming tenor a wrenching plea for a forgiveness, which he knew was beyond her giving. She saw the gondola and ore. Stepping in she lifted the heavy piece of wood and began to row towards the dark cave, humming softly.

_"You have come here  
>in pursuit of<br>your deepest urge,  
>in pursuit of<br>that wish,  
>which till now<br>has been silent,  
>silent . . .<br>I have brought you,  
>that our passions<br>may fuse and merge -  
>in your mind<br>you've already  
>succumbed to me<br>dropped all defenses  
>completely succumbed to me -<br>now you are here with me:  
>no second thoughts,<br>you've decided,  
>decided . . .<em>

_Past the point  
>of no return -<br>no backward glances:  
>our games of make believe<br>are at an end . . .  
>Past all thought<br>of "if" or "when" -  
>no use resisting:<br>abandon thought,  
>and let the dream<br>descend . . .  
>What raging fire<br>shall flood the soul?  
>What rich desire<br>unlocks its door?  
>What sweet seduction<br>lies before  
>us . . .?<em>

_Past the point  
>of no return,<br>the final threshold -  
>what warm,<br>unspoken secrets  
>will we learn?<br>Beyond the point  
>of no return . . .<em>_  
><em>_Past the point  
>of no return<br>the final threshold -  
>the bridge<br>is crossed, so stand  
>and watch it burn . . .<br>We've passed the point  
>of no return…"<em>

She made it to the bank and got out of the boat where there was no sign of life to be had and she was instantly worried. Christine reached in and pulled the little lever to let herself in, and then began exploring. The poor girl searched and searched until she fell to her knees and cried with frustration. Christine cried until she noticed splatters of blood on the stones and then remembered the horrible day the époque saying that Erik was dead. A scream rose in her throat as she noticed the gun-case which he hid in a so-called 'secret place,' was empty.

"No…" her voice rose in a sob of agony, "NO!" she screamed, as she realized what her true love had done in his despair.

She found on the ground a piece of shattered glass on the ground and raised it to her wrist. If Erik was dead then she would not live without him and pressed the shard to her wrist hard enough to slice the skin. It should have hurt but the only thing she felt was the grief over the man she loved… that and tired as her blood seeped out. Christine vaguely heard someone running toward her and lifting her into his arms. She blacked out and woke sometime later, her sight blurred and a warm, wet cloth being pressed to her head.

"Mmm…" she tried to speak but her tongue felt thick and coarse in her throat. Still she managed to force out, "Who… are…you…"

"Shush, I am Nadir Khan," said the man, and his voice was lovely, a soft accent from the Middle-East.

He was handsome with sympathetic jade eyes filled with concern as he taped her injury with gauze. He placed an ebony hand her shoulder and she turned to look into the jade eyes of the elusive Persian. He was looking at her with curious, searching eyes as though he were trying to see into her soul. She closed her eyes, wanting to pull away and sleep herself to death; she wanted this man to go away. Erik was dead and she did not want to live without him, she tried not to cry but it was no use and she burst into tears.

"Mademoiselle what's the matter?" he asked.

"Erik…" she cried.

"What do you want with him?" he asked.

"I love him," she cried.

He raised his eyebrows, "Oh, you could have fooled me, the way you left him for the Vicomte."

"I know, but I left Raoul and now…oh god I love him and I cannot find him—"

"Miss Daaë, Erik is not here." He said.

"I know!" she cried, "He's dead….I killed the man I love!"

She flung herself into his arms and he brought them around her, rubbing her back. "Shh...Do you really love him?"

"I wouldn't have left Raoul if I didn't…" she buried her face in his chest, wanting to be held.

"You left Raoul…"

"Yes, for him…" she sobbed.

"Why? After the whole fiasco, the way you loathed him…"

"I do not know, "

"Then I must tell you that Erik is not dead, he is quite alive in a woodland cottage not far from here." He kissed the top of her head.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"I am an old friend of his, his oldest friend and I assure you he is quite alive."

"Are you certain…"  
>"Yes, Erik is very much alive in a cottage on the outskirts of the city."<p>

"He is?" she perked up, "But I hurt him so badly he probably does not want to see me."

"Are you daft woman? You are all he thinks about." He smiled at her, "all I hear is Christine this and that. It's quite annoying really…"

"Can you take me to him?" she asked, trying to stand, "owww…" she groaned.

"You broke your ankle falling down, come on." He groaned and lifted her into his arms.

He took her down to the forest where she saw a smoking chimney and heard a beautiful voice sobbing. She reached out from the Persian's arms and knocked on the door. "Erik?"

"Go away!" he shouted.

"Erik, it's me… Christine…"

"No, go away…Christine is happy with her young man and doesn't care about Erik…"

"Erik, come now, open the door, please…" she begged.

"No, Erik's going mad!" His shout, "Mad with love…"

Christine winced and said "Erik it really is me…"

The door creaked and he opened it, seeing that it was her he threw it open and pulled her into his arms. "Oh my god, what happened to you?"

"Erik, my ankle…"

He loosened his grip and took her to the bed, closing the door in the Persian's face. He left them alone with a shake of his head, and an ear-to-ear grin. He was so happy for his friend, the man deserved some love in his life and now he had the only woman he had ever loved. He had no fear for Daaë knowing Erik would tend her, and after her tears in his old home he had no doubt of her love for him. He was happy for her too, because now and that she would be happy with Erik. She had cried out of love for him but now at last she was with the man she loved…


	6. Chapter 5:One night in the name of love

**Chapter five:** One night in the name of love

"Erik I thought you were dead!" she sobbed.

"No, Christine my love, not me…not ever." He whispered, kissing her ear.

"My love,'" she whispered looking at him in shock, "do you still?" she asked.

"Always and forever until I die." She tightened her arms around his neck, "oh Christine… you have no idea what you mean to me…" There were tears in his voice, pooling in his eyes.

"I thought you no longer wanted me…"Christine sobbed.

He wrapped his arms around her, "You're everything to me… everything…"

"Mmm…" Christine moaned softly, her relief sapping the stress keeping her awake.

Erik pushed her down on the bed and no sooner had he done so than Christine tried to stand, "It is bedtime Christine, you look so sleepy."

"No, I want to hold you," she tried to go to him.

Her broken ankle found her unable to do so and she winced and lie back down falling sound asleep almost immediately. Her body ached from the emotional struggles and constant nightmares and all she wanted to do was sleep. Hell that was all she could do to close her eyes of her own will. He turned to look at her watching her chest rising and falling as she snored comfortably into the pillow. Christine sighed and her arms went limp and loose at her sides. Her face slack in sharp relief, but the dark circles still remained there.

It broke his heart and the tears came whether he liked it or not when she started to whimper for him to come to her side. He knew that he shouldn't go to her because it would only pain him to see the relief of seeing him on her face. Erik knew he didn't deserve it, after everything he had done to her. But then she started to cry in her sleep and that was it, he just couldn't stand the sight of her whimpering for daddy Daaë in her sleep. He walked over to the piano and sitting down on the bench and he began to sing softly:

_"Who knows when love begins?_  
><em>Who knows what makes it start?<br>One day it's simply there, a life inside your heart  
>It slips into your thoughts<br>It infiltrates your soul  
>It takes you by surprise, then seizes full control<br>Try to deny it, and try to protest  
>But love won't let you go, once you've been possessed<br>Love never dies, love never falters  
>Once it has spoken, love is yours<br>Love never fades, love never alters  
>Hearts may get broken, love endures<br>Hearts may get broken, love endures__[ Lyrics from: lyrics/k/katherine_jenkins/love_never_ ]__  
>And soon as you submit<br>Surrender flesh and bone  
>That love takes on a life much bigger than your own<br>It uses you at whim  
>And drives you to despair<br>And forces you to feel more joy than you can bear  
>Love gives you pleasure and love brings you pain<br>And yet, when both are gone, love will still remain_

Love never dies, love never falters  
>Once it has spoken, love is yours<br>Love never fades, love never alters  
>Life may be fleeting<br>Love never dies, love will continue  
>Love keeps on beating when you're gone<br>Love never dies, once it is in you…  
>Life may be fleeting; love lives on<br>Life may be fleeting, love lives on…"

She seemed to relax and began to snore loudly; Erik smirked and began timing her snores. No particular reason. It was just amusing to him that she was so delicate and yet sounded like a drunk bear. He had to smile because the sound was so uncharacteristic of her that she would blush to hear herself make that offensive pig-in-heat noise. He began to count her snores 1…2…3… _SNORE…_ 1…2…3…_SNORE…_ Erik laughed softly, his angel even slept in perfect rhythm.

His laughter was short-lived however because he noticed how sickly she looked. Erik tried to contain his emotions as always, he attempted to be unfathomable. But he felt his feet going to the side of the bed. He felt his eyes water when the woman he loved was right there crying and begging him to come over to her side. True she was calling for her angel of music, but Erik knew she meant him. He flicked his eyes towards her, and tucked his blankets over her.

He yawned, her snoring starting to soothe him as much as a lullaby. It was odd because when Madame had done it, the noise had only served to irritate him. But then he supposed that was because he didn't love Madame. It seemed to soothe him that the woman he loved could sleep so deeply and look so peaceful in his presence. Erik felt his head droop and his legs became led, truth-be-told he had not had a good night's sleep since she left. He felt the none-too-comfortable bed beneath him. The pillow was small and only had room for her head but he didn't mind because her chest looked just as soft.

He lay down and curled up on her chest and when she woke, he was laying in her lap asleep. She smiled sitting up on her elbows and he woke up. Christine felt tears welling up again and now knew undoubtedly that she was in love. She wanted to wake up to his every day and kiss him awake like she did now. Her lips reached his and wrapped around his and his eyes widened as he pulled away and tried to ease her back down on the bed so she would not strain her ankle but she was having none of it. She leaned forward and throwing her arms around him kissed the side of his throat. Erik forgot his reservations and pulled her warm body against him. Christine snuggled him, warm and strong and alive…

"Don't cry Christine..."

His arm came around her, the smell of her wafting to his nose and the feeling of her going slack, "I love you…" she whispered.

Erik tipped her chin up to look at her and found no lie in her eyes. He kissed her, bracing the back of her neck with his hand. He tried to ignore that this was his first real kiss, no pity, no schoolgirl fantasies…just a real kiss from a woman that loved him. Erik tried to act like he knew what he was doing les he feel a fool. He gently pressed her lips apart with his tongue, biting hers teasingly. She groaned and removed the headpiece from him, feeling the deformed tissue beneath her fingers. Erik began to pull away but forgot to do so when she caught his hands and placed them on her hips. They slipped sideways seemingly of their own accord.

Gripping her buttocks he pulled her closer but then stopped and pulled away. He couldn't do this! She was an innocent girl and though he was not pure in the physical sense, he could feel guilt bubbling inside him. Erik backed away from her, ashamed of himself. Erik groaned inwardly at the sight of what he was walking away from. She had no right at all to be that beautiful, it literally made him hurt the sight of her like that made him hard. Blonde curls mussed, face red and eyes slumberous with passion; he would be committing a mortal sin in the lavatory tonight and taking one step closer to hell.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I can't do this…" he said.

"You don't want me?" she looked sad.

"Oh believe me, I want you." Erik cupped himself just to show her how much, "but I can't…"

She looked down at him, observing the pulsing member in his slacks. A virginal blush stole over her body. Christine wanted to touch him the minute she locked eyes with him. There was just something about his eyes, the raw need, the pure love and the lust burning there. Her dress fell open slightly and he noticed one perfect breast protruding slightly, so pail and pink from her innocent desire. Erik bit his lip trying to resist the urge to tackle her to the ground and bury himself her till her body fell limp in his arms.

"No… close up your gown." He said, though his voice was thick.

She looked peevish, "Why?"

"I've never…" he hung his head.

"You were doing fine." She walked forward.

"But you're a vir-"he stopped, admitting that he wanted to deflower a virgin was a serious blow to his sense of chivalry.

She laughed softly, obviously finishing the word in her mind, "Indeed I am but we'll never learn if we don't try and I do intend to lose it sometimes."

"But what if I disappoint you?"

"Oh would you just shut up. Damn!"

Erik's mouth dropped at her snappishness and shut his mouth. His love wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss. Erik groaned, he could tell that this kiss was one of full wanton. She wanted to kiss him and so he kissed her back. Christine pushed him against the wall, needing to give him some proof that she loved him legs around his waist and moved closer to him his body radiating heat and smelling of arousal. He bent his head kissed her slowly, testing his ability to do so without being kissed first.

After being kissed by Meg he knew what to do when being kissed and so he spread his mouth wider, biting down teasingly on her well-kissed lips. Christine breathed into his mouth gasping at his desire as she felt it swelling beneath her hand. She had often heard the older ballerinas talk about sex in the dormitories. How a man got hard and groaned and but she had no idea it would be like this. Erik groaned, clamping her hand down on him when she tried to move it up. He wanted her to touch him and she was more than happy to oblige. She stroked the bulge in his pants, smiling against his mouth when she felt him growing stiffer.

She finally moved her hand up to his chest and worked with one of the buttons of his collar. Christine noticed the throbbing pulse in his throat, the glistening sweat on his neck. She kissed him on the neck, licking one of the beads of sweat from him, tasting the sweat from his throat. He clamped her head there, allowing her better access to his throat, wanting her to continue the feeling of her mouth on his throat, her cool tongue on his hot skin. She seemed to nod, and her tongue flicked over his pulse and she bit down lightly.

Christine was surprised at how willing she was to do these things, for she was indeed an innocent. But the passion Erik ignited in her was so fierce and strong that she forgot her reservations. God only he could make her feel like this and she was consumed with it. Her arms wound around him like the coils of a serpent and her fingers linked themselves behind his head to pull him in for a kiss.

_'MINE!' _Erik's mind screamed and he yanked her to him, _'MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!' _

His hands roamed all over her, settling in the treasure-trove between her legs. This is what he needed, the woman he loved bucking against his hand. Erik felt her center with his hand, so hot, so wet… she gasped and pressed his hand to her. He pushed his hand back and forth until he felt her leaking and trembling and she pushed him on the bed and straddled him. Erik groaned at the exquisite torture of the only woman he had ever loved responding to his touch. He decided to reach out and cup one of her breasts.

"Mmm…" she leaned down further into him and closed her eyes.

_'She likes my touch…' _he thought, _who would believe that a woman as beautiful as her would respond so willingly to my touch_. _God, thank you for letting the woman of my dreams respond to my touch.'_

"Erik, please it hurts." She gasped strained with wanting him.

He raised his eyebrows when she kissed him and ran her hands down the side of his neck liking the way his tongue tasted in her mouth. It was drenched with the flavor of a sweet dessert wine. The warmth of her mouth made him groan softly and he framed the back of her neck with his hand. Erik stroked the back of her neck and kissed her back, groaning at the wetness of her mouth when the taste of it became spicier from her passion. He forced her head back slightly and delved his tongue into her throat. She sucked his tongue like a candy, wanting more and pushing him against the bed board. It groaned under his weight and when he rolled on top of her she giggled.

"Help me," he whispered against the skin of her throat.

Christine reached up and pulled his shirt open being careful not to tear it, but he was in such a frenzy he couldn't think to care if she did. She slid the silk shirt down his chest and fanned her fingers over the wiry flesh. He groaned at the coolness of her fingers on his hot hyper-sensitive skin. Her fingers on the matted tissue of his scars, made him want to cry because of her tenderness. Erik leaned over and kissed her. She leaned forward her thoughts of Raoul all but vanished in the arms of her tutor. She couldn't stop the moaning coming from her lips and his voice whispering for her to come.

It was so wrong and her mind screamed at her that this was too dangerous that this was not love it was raunchy sex. But her heart told her that tonight was meant for her and him, she closed her eyes and thought of the man she had been engaged to. Raoul, that dear innocent boy would never give her the kind of passion that Erik did.

He was too shy of a lad for that, beautiful and a child just like she was. Erik was a man, an intense one and the feelings he ignited in her were so deep that her lovemaking to him was out of sheer instinct. It was as if Erik and her were wild animals and she was destined to be her mate. He slid his shirt down his shoulders and then took her hands pinning them to the bed so he could slip her dress open and bury his face in her sweaty, warm skin, lapping at the salty droplets.

"Oh, god Christine, I can't take much more of this…" he moaned, standing up to release his belt.

She stood with him and then Christine pushed him against the wall, needing to give him some proof that she loved him legs around his waist and moved closer to him his body radiating heat and smelling of arousal. He bent his head kissed her slowly, testing his ability to do so without being kissed first. Christine breathed into his mouth gasping at his desire as she felt it swelling beneath her hand. She had often heard the older ballerinas talk about sex in the dormitories. How a man got hard and groaned and tried to find release but she had no idea it would be like this.

Erik groaned, clamping her hand down on him when she tried to move it up. He wanted her to touch him and she was more than happy to oblige. She stroked the bulge in his pants, smiling against his mouth when she felt him growing stiffer. She finally moved her hand up to his chest and worked with one of the buttons of his collar. Christine noticed the throbbing pulse in his throat, the glistening sweat on his neck. She kissed him on the neck, licking one of the beads of sweat from him, tasting the sweat from his throat. He clamped her head there, allowing her better access to his throat, wanting her to continue the feeling of her mouth on his throat, her cool tongue on his hot skin.

She seemed to nod, and her tongue flicked over his pulse and she bit down lightly. Erik groaned hoarsely as her teeth scratched him with her teeth and he reached up to hold her head in place. She reached up with one hand and reached toward his mask and he stopped her with a pleading look in his raindrop eyes. But she removed it anyway and he turned away from her.

"Please, give me my mask Christine." He said in despair, "Don't look at me."

"Shh," she whispered, turning him back to her, "I fell for a man, not a face, I love _you_."

She gave him a kiss to prove it and he groaned, her mumbled confession enflaming him. Her hands reached down toward his member. Christine liked his response, good god what was happening to her? A sweet child with dreams of innocence and a prince-charming now a woman so wanton that it was to the level of lust, one of the most deadly sins one can commit. But then how could this be so sinful when she was with the man she would die for and it felt good. _So good,_ she groaned and rocked on his straining member his slacks the only barrier between them now and one she found rather annoying.

Christine moved her hand to his belt and loosened it, sliding it open and reaching down to run her hand over him. Erik removed her hand fiercely from him guiding her gripping fingers to the waistband of his slacks and tugging them down slightly. He struggled out of his pants and pushed himself up, just lightly teasing her entrance, causing her to whimper. The touch of her center brushing his throbbing member was almost enough to send him over the edge. She made a keening sound and hid her face in his shoulder and

Erik was glad that he had read so many books on sex and knew how to enter a woman. Still he trembled with nervousness and wanting to please her but scared that his passion would die the minute he entered her that he would not be able to last. But then out of that human love and the need he felt took over him and he had this overwhelming need to make her his. To leave his mark on her in the physical way that no other man could do no matter how many lovers she took.

He slowly entered her and kept his eyes open judging her reaction, finding it favorable as she leaned against the wall. Her forget-me-not eyes opened, smoky with lust and love and she kissed him fully on the mouth. Erik slid himself all the way into her and then cried at her words.

"Oh, _God…_Erik…you feel so wonderful." He moved softly, "mmm yes so wonderful…harder…"

Erik couldn't help the tears in his eyes at that and moved a little harder, marveling at what she had just said. She thought he felt wonderful, the woman of his dreams thought he was wonderful. He moved into her, her body was so warm and he moved slowly to her barrier, being careful not to hurt her too badly. His release came in a moment but not before she clenched and exploded around him. He groaned with the force of the sweet release he had been waiting so many years to obtain. As he slowly relieved his desires Erik heard her sigh and felt her slump against him.

"Are you quite certain that you have been deprived of this most of your life Erik?" she asked, "You seemed rather…_skilled_ to me."

"I am not a pure man in the physical sense; I've used many a temporary woman and my own hands." He cringed at her disgusted look.

"Erik that's gross." She said furrowing her brow, "That's just…" she stopped, searching for the word and finally having none said, "Just… ewwww…okay…ewwww… thank you for the image I needed that _so badly._"

Erik laughed at her childish phrasing before he went on, "But as your bible says, 'there is no consummations save for that in thy intended. Tonight was my first time in a way, for it was the first time I laid with someone I love." Christine smiled, "Now I am whole, now I have everything."

Christine snuggled into his arms, "I could never share with Raoul what I just gave to you…I was so confused about myself but you were all I could think of. Laying in his warm arms and thinking and wishing they were yours. When I saw your gun was missing and the blood on the floor…"

She started to weep and Erik wrapped his arms around her and hummed over her head. He hated himself for what he had done to her even if it was not intentional. He had never intended to hurt her, quite the opposite. His intention was to free himself of this torture but never to harm her. If Madame Giry had not found him he would have done so long ago. But then she had taken him to the cottage and just when he had thought himself to be healing he yearned for the woman he loved the most.

To hear her weep like this made him wish for torture of any kind, anything but this. Hell right now he _wished_ that he would kill himself just so that the hole in his heart would ease, but god help him a part of him loved it. To have someone worry for him and come to his arms for comfort was surreal to him in every sense of the word. He leaned down and reintroduced his tongue to her mouth as if it was the first kiss and the last. The gesture as tender as he could make it, as he tried to convey the apologies that he did not have the words to say and to show her just how much he loved her.

She responded, he could taste the salt of her tears, feel the droplets on her trembling lips. To have her back was all he needed and he could not have asked for anything more. Even better was ironically when she broke away from him and her head drooped onto his chest where his heart throbbed with unconditional love. Christine was finally relaxed after what seemed like hours and began to snore comfortably into his bare chest. Erik closed his own eyes and fell asleep to the sound, tears leaking down his face. He finally had the woman he loved, the girl of his dreams and if this was a dream he never wanted to wake up…


	7. Chapter six-The morning after

**Chapter six-The morning after**

Christine woke up and reached for Erik only to find his place in the bed empty. Of course she was mildly annoyed with him. One did not appreciate losing one's innocence and waking the next morning to find its new keeper gone. Much less so when they were in pain because after all, she woke to find herself naked and blood dried from between her legs and her lover was nowhere to be found. She heard soft music coming from the other side of the room, beautiful but horribly sad.

It was eerily reminiscent of the music that had tortured her for so long. But it held wildness to it that not even his _Don Juan _possessed. It made her move her hands over her breasts but this time not with a virgin's awakening but a woman's wanton experience. She looked down at the white sheets now stained slightly pink with the remains of her innocence. A blush stole over her as she recalled last night. She thought she could feel his body cold and swollen atop hers as he moved back and forth on her in that steady rhythm with that instinctual dance.

Christine looked over at Erik just across the room from her and writing down notes with precision. But then he crumpled the paper and tossed the ball into a pile of crumpled papers. Christine picked up a stray wad that had passed by her bed. Her brow furrowed in confusion because this was so beautiful and she began to hum along to it.

_"Once there was a night  
>beneath a moonless sky,<br>too dark to see a thing  
>too dark to even try.<em>

I stole to your side,  
>to tell you I must go.<br>I couldn't see your face,  
>but sensed you even so. "<p>

"No…don't sing that song…" he said, his voice strained.

He was covered in a hood and cloak and she could hear him sighing as if in despair. His fingers smoothed down his hood and glared at her from the brim. This annoyed her because of what she had given him last night and she had half a mind to stumble over to him and slap him across the back of his thick skull. But she noticed dried tears and smeared residue streaked across the bridge of his nose. His silver eyes were rimmed in red and swollen as though he had been in a fist fight.

But then this puzzled her how could he be sad after what they had shared last night? Isn't that everything he had ever wanted? She paled, had she been so horrible at pleasuring him that he no longer wanted her? She paled, did he find her _ugly_? Christine stood up and carefully, supporting her weight on the creaking bed. She tried to stumble over to the other side of the room. Her mild soreness was awkward for her but she had to know. But when she tried to walk her leg protested so much that she had to sit back down.

"Why don't you want me to sing?" she asked, "Does my voice displease you…"

"No, it's not you, it's the song. It's garbage…" he said bitterly, "Throw it out…"

"No it's not, Erik it's lovely." She argued.

"I said, **throw it out**." He snapped.

Christine flinched at his forceful tone, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, go back to bed and leave me to my work…" she could hear that he was close to tears.

Christine shuddered at the strained brokenness in her lover's voice and tried to soothe him by singing the piece she was holding. He glared at her and stood to his feet walking over to her and wrenching the paper from her, threw it into the fireplace and stormed back over to the piano and sat down heavily. His fingers moved smoothly as if automatically despite his hands shaking over the piano but oddly enough they were still graceful in their musical precision. She could hear him weeping in what sounded as the epitome of sadness.

He threw another paper ball at the fire and missed his target with a sigh of frustration. He got up to retrieve it. She grabbed it before he did and smoothed the wrinkly paper out seeing a gorgeous piece that poured love and devotion through every note of its haunting melody. Erik tried to take it from her but that required him having to pass by the bed. Christine put her hand on his shoulder and he turned standing utterly with a sharp expression that had used to frighten her. Now she sat still as she met his angry gaze with a calm one of her own. Christine gazed at him till his expression of anger became a pleading one filled in with watered eyes.

"Christine please…"

"Shush…"she whispered, "come here…"

She tugged at his arm until he relented and sat down with her. Erik's raindrop eyes were full of that remarkable pain that only he could bring to life. When she removed the hood she saw the deformity was hidden again in the mask. Her hand seemed to reach up and remove his mask of its own accord. She saw fresh blood on his face and she felt her heart break. He must have hurt himself during her nap. Christine hated it when he hurt himself almost as much as she hated his sadness. Taking out her handkerchief she wiped the blood away while it was still liquidy.

It came away easily with the water of his tears but he still winced when she moved the cloth over his injury. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed his malformed head into her shoulder. His face was cold, so very cold but she held him hard wanting to take away the pain to and to give him that love he desperately craved and had been denied for so many years. His hands were shaking as she pulled his arms around her. He felt his tears falling on her head feeling her nuzzle him, tighten her arms around him.

"Erik, what's the matter?" she asked.

"You are going to leave me…" he sobbed, "That song reminds me too much of you…"

"Why would I do that? After last night…or were you absent?" she smirked, trying to inject some humor into the situation.

He glared at her with a look that was plainly unamused and for a moment she saw not her lover but a man starved for affection. The epitome of his sadness was too much for her when she reached for his hands to kiss them he pulled them away and shot to his feet. Christine stood clumsily to her own feet and tried to soothe him with a lullaby but he clapped his hands over his ears and screamed like a wounded animal freshly shot. It was the kind of sound she had heard the night she had first removed his mask, a wretched sound as though he had lost everything that he had ever had.

Christine winced at the pain in his cry and pulled him to his feet and kissed him, "Do you really think after I gave you everything …"

Erik clapped his hands over his face and let out a wretched sound somewhere between a sob and a blood-curdling scream, "No, it was a dream!" He shouted, "Now you'll leave me…"

Christine moved his hands from his face and showed him the blood between her legs where he had claimed her. "It was not a dream…I love you…"

Erik caught her and pulled her close. She snuggled him and he carried her back to the bed where he had basin of Luke-warm water and a cloth. He spread her legs and gently washed away the virgin's blood from her thighs. Erik's eyes widened and he scraped the grainy stains from her his grey eyes filled with an unbelievable amount of remorse in his eyes. Sighing, she climbed on his lap and poured all her love for him into her kiss. Erik gasped and tentatively wrapped his skeletal arms around her. His hands were gentle and caressing and he coaxed her to stand again. She squeezed him tight as she could without hurting him.

He kissed her lips and pulled her close and let himself be held. She reached over and pulled him back down so that she was resting her head on his shoulder. When they broke away she reached across him and picked up a hairbrush. Christine handed it to him and he looked puzzled.

"Erik, would you brush my hair?" she asked.

"Anything, my love," he said.

Erik went to the bed immediately, picking up the bush and doing as he was asked. "Come here and lean back so I can reach your head."

She leaned back into him and he began to work with her hair. His fingers combed out the gnarls in her hair with tenderness unlike any she had ever seen. He brushed her hair and counted to one hundred as though she were a princess. He seemed to smile at her and she leaned back into him when he began to elegantly weave her hair into a sunny-red braid. It was strange that felt so safe in the arms of a murderer but then she knew she had his unwavering devotion.

He would never hurt her that much she knew and she also knew that she loved him and was willing to take that risk for him anyway. His calm hands were as smooth as a bone and as cool as a spring breeze. She relaxed in his arms and snuggled him, he loved her and the warmth of her hair spilled over his icy shoulder causing him to groan. Christine grinned as he entwined his fingers in her hair. Erik seemed to fall asleep against her but when she looked at him his eyes were open slightly he looked thoughtful. He tightened his arms slightly and he looked down at her brightly.

It was a strange thing to see him this happy when in all the time she had known him she had never seen his eyes light up. He raised himself from the bed and kissed her, leaving her in the bed, he picked one of his long shirts up. He walked over to the bed and slipped her into the silk. He lifted her bad ankle and slowly re-stitched it and splinted it. Christine winced for a moment and then sighed as he laid her leg back down.

"Ouch…" she groaned when he tipped her leg up to assess the damage, "Put my leg down that hurts."

"Hush, we seemed to have torn your stitches in our…" he stopped, "over-eagerness."

Christine giggled at his unwillingness to say the word passion even when she was lying naked before him. She reached up and kissed him, pulling him down on her and liking the way he landed full on her where he immediately stiffened with need but tried to pull away. She shook her head and pulled him back down to her but he stood back up and looked up at her with a shine in his eyes that warmed her to the core. It was amazing that eyes that had at one time frightened her and now made her heartbeat quicken and her pulse warm.

She wanted to wipe the doubt from her face but he was already at the piano far out of her reach. She watched him for a bit; watching his eyes grow heavier and heavier until they shut in the euphoria of the notes. It was a sad melody that repeatedly spoke the same question of why she loved him and the words tugged at her heart strings. He reached into the coals of the fireplace and retrieved the piece she had been singing smiling at the duet and walking over to the piano he started to hum softly.

Christine felt her head grow heavy and her voice was too thick to ask him to stop. Erik smiled and whispered a soft goodnight to her and covered her in his scratchy blanket, wishing he were able to wrap her in something more comfortable. But still she smiled at the left-over warmth from him and her together the previous night. His love smiled in her sleepy state when he kissed her cheek with his horrible, malformed lips.

Her reaction to his touch and affections still amazed him but even as he watched her sleep he had a sinking feeling in his heart. Erik sat down by the bed and watched her for a moment more and thought of last night. How soft she was…Her body so warm and pure beneath his hands and her shield breaking away and letting him inside her most secret haven. His body came alive at the memory and a few tears trickled down his cheek at how perfect the moment was.

Erik stared out of the window at rainy woodland surrounding his home and sighed turning his attention to his sleeping love. A breeze blew his flimsy door open and a blast of wind and water blasted his face. He got up and went to the door shoving it shut with a semi-loud thunk and Christine groaned. Erik looked over fearing that he had woke her but she was soon snoring again, deeply lost in her dreams. He stared at her for a moment, marveling at how innocent she looked there in his bed.

Despite the loud noise emanating from her she looked so peaceful almost childlike. Her golden-red hair splayed out like a halo, silky from his attentions with the brush. Erik moved her outstretched arm back to her chest and folded her other hand on top of it. She smiled as he selfishly lowered his horrible lips to her hands. Reaching over he ran his icy hand over the bite-marks on her porcelain throat, like red hearts leaving a permanent kiss there. To him however they looked like blemishes, horrid little marks left by the _Nosferatu. A demon's mark, worse_ yet was the fact that he had given it to her.

Erik squeezed his eyes shut, two tears falling down each of his cheeks and he shook with silent tears. He got to his feet with a sigh and went to the door opening it dejectedly; shushing it softly when the door creaked on its rickety hinges. Turning back he stole one last look at Christine. His dream was over; he had held her in his arms, spent a night with her by his side and even gotten to comb her hair. But alas it was cold and harsh reality in which the dream must descend into nothingness.

He had everything he ever wanted for one golden moment and now it was over. With a sigh of self-hatred he let out a frustrated shout and slammed the door viscously. The rain glistened before him and then a loud clap of thunder shook the sky like an earthquake. The drizzle turned into a full on downpour making his already somber mood even worse. Then with a jagged movement a bolt of lightning sliced the sky. Erik groaned and stepped out into it letting the chill soak into his already-cold body. Erik stood out there in the rain for what felt like hours, hoping to get cold enough to catch hypothermia and die. His teeth chattered, his knees banged together and his body shivered with the cold.

Somewhere in the clattering of the rain he heard a voice," Erik what are you doing?"

He turned in her direction and saw her standing lopsided in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame to take the pressure of her bad leg. Her face was pale and the way the shirt she wore rode up on her thighs and back revealing half of her rump made him burn all over again. Her eyes were filled with worry and her hair was tousled and badly windblown. She had never looked more desirable to him at that moment and he turned away groaning with the ache to go back and sweep her into his arms and kiss the living hell out of her.

"Erik get in here now!" she snapped.

"Go back inside..." He said.

"No, _you _get back inside you're soaked." She retorted stumbling towards him.

"I am leaving Christine…"

"Leaving?" she asked.

"Yes." He said.

"When are you coming back?"

"I'm not."

She paled, "What?"

He became distracted and started to hum:

_"And now that we're done…before the son can rise…ashamed of how I look…_

_And wounded by the lies, I cannot remain and I must say goodbye…_

_"To my one perfect night, beneath a moonless sky…"_

Smack!

The sound echoed like a gunshot beneath the rain and Erik stood there in shock as the delicate young woman he loved hit him again and again on the back of his head. He did not turn to her even to stop her because he could hear tears in her throat. Finally she let out a moan of frustration and shoved him but he did not lose his balance. Christine had no words to describe the frustration of this oh-so-awkward morning after. But one thing was for sure she was not going to let him walk away from her if she could help it.

"Damn it Erik look at me!" He did not turn and she shouted, "last night that was not a lie."

"You slept with me out of pity then… you never loved me…"

"What are you talking about?"

_"I am a creature of darkness…_

_This is the life I have known…_

_God gave me courage to accept_

_I'm always alone…"_

Christine slapped her forehead hard enough to make herself dizzy and she swooned starting to fall forward. He turned around and caught her when she fell forward and he pulled her close to support her weight. She fell on him and he fell back to the ground where he landed with a splat. The mud flew up and squirted her in the face but she could have cared less and forced her lips on his so deeply that he didn't even have the strength to stop her from pinning him. She pressed her mouth to him and began tearing the buttons of his shirt open and frantically pulled him out of it.

She struggled out of his shirt and then with utter desperation she straddled him and tugged his slacks down to his knees. Erik kept his eyes shut as she accepted him despite the pain he knew she was in from her feminine soreness. He did not want to open his eyes and see the aching on her face Christine had no words for him because this was one of those moments where nothing she could say would make it right. It was over too quickly for both of them, both left breathless and gasping before they collapsed on the water-softened earth.

Erik opened his eyes after several minutes and pulled himself to his feet and looked down at her. He then, ever the gentleman extended his hand to her and took her to her feet and then unable to stop himself pulled her into his arms. She clung to him and cried with him for several minutes, never realizing just how alone they really were without each other. They cried till they had no tears and as Erik swept her off her feet and carried her into the cottage his eyes filled again. This time however they were tears of joy for as he laid her down in the bed and climbed in beside her he felt loved for himself…


	8. Chapter seven- Bosherville

Chapter seven- Bosherville

They finished crying after what felt like several hours, they cried until the sun went down and when Christine finally settled in Erik's arms they were both worn out. She felt the fabric of his soaked shirt and then smiled when he pulled it off and allowed her to burrow against his chest. He felt it when she started to fall asleep and tightened her arms around his abdomen. Sunlight pierced their darkened oasis and warmed the little cottage and pierced the darkness keeping them in their dreams.

He was the first to wake the next morning, groaning with the ache of his cold-stiffened muscles. The rain had seeped into his bones and caused Erik tried flexing his muscles and groaned when they cracked and popped painfully, finding a pressure on his chest making it impossible to move. Still Erik found he could not complain, the bed was soft and he felt so wonderfully warm and safe that he didn't really want to move anyway. He heard a soft moan and some mumbled gibberish and then the sound of snores coming from his chest. Erik smiled for what felt like the first time in well-_ever_- when he saw that Christine was sleeping on him like a baby.

Erik looked down at his drowsing lover, her naked body glowing in the morning sun, it was covered in the residue of his love making marking her body with little love bites. She rolled over on the bed, stirring from her rest. Christine smiled a little and looked at him sleepily. She leaned over and kissed him just like a newlywed couple would do and he rose from the bed to dress. Christine smiled at him and he walked over to him as he turned to look at her the raindrop of his eyes gleamed with a possessive look as he stared at her nakedness. She blushed at him and he went to her to gather her dress to hand it to her.

But instead he returned with a brown box and gestured for her to open it, she did so and froze. Inside was a wedding dress, obviously hand-made and painstakingly kept in order till she returned if ever that was. A part of her was in awe at the beauty of the gown, but a larger part of her heart was breaking at the thought behind it. The gown looked as though it had taken some time to make as though he had started it as soon as she left him. Her heart ached at the image of him sitting here in this secluded woodland cottage sewing a dress for her and humming all the love songs he had written for her that she would never sing.

Christine felt tears welling up at her tutor's hopefulness and cursed herself, knowing that he would have waited for her and knowing that she almost married someone else. She pushed him out of her mind, she was with Erik now…he was her suitor now not Raoul. What she would have done no longer mattered and she went forward to kiss him on the lips. Christine looked down at the dress again and as usual was awed by the thing.

"Where did you—"she started.

"I have an unbelievable memory my dearest; it was not hard to make you another one." He said smoothly.

"But… why…" She asked. "I was going to marry Raoul…"

Erik winced visibly, "I know but I just thought…that if I waited for you long enough…"

His eyes welled up and he felt himself tearing before he could stop it and inwardly cursed his heart for loving her so much. Christine went to him and wiped at his tears with gentle fingers, setting the dress back down on the bed, she framed his malformed face in her hands and kissed both his cheeks. Erik felt like an idiot to be just standing there at her mercy but knew there was nothing he could do about it, so rather than fight the emotions bottling up inside him for so long he let go. He cried, he cried long and hard, letting her see him in his most vulnerable state.

She said nothing, simply held onto him with her hands pressing gently into the back of his head. His tears soaked through her shoulder and chilled her skin. Her hands framed his malformed head and she rocked back and forth very slowly making shushing and tisking sounds. Erik finished crying on her after what felt like hours and when she finally pulled away his eyes were red and swollen but ardent with the purest love she had ever seen in her life. She kissed his mouth for a long moment and then turned her attention to the gown he had given her.

Christine had to smile as she shook her head fingering the fabric, "It's beautiful."

Indeed it was; it looked as if it had been fathomed out of the purest snow and was a soft as silk. The lace in the backing was in the pattern of roses entwining on vines made of an almost translucent silver satin. The hem traced in lace as intricate as though he had sewn real snowflakes onto the edges when they were in fact simply crystals sewn on painstakingly and gleaming in the new morning sun. Erik, ever the gentleman, beckoned that she might don it and turned away to give her privacy despite having seen her naked many times already. She put it on as he dropped to his knees and kissed both her hands one at a time.

"Let's get married." He said.

She stared at him snapped out of her thoughts as she watched him donning an open-necked shirt. Christine blushed as she remembered his muscular chest rippling against her as their passions flamed. Erik, on the other hand was not thinking of that for he looked at her with those hopeful eyes. It took her a moment to remember what he had said and then it hit her full force and she stammered a response.

"Now?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "Don't you want to marry me?"

Christine blinked at the question, not sure how to answer him. Did she want to marry him? Yes, of course she did. But the thought of being married to him was just so…odd, odd and completely, completely _wonderful. _ But saying yes was not enough for Erik and it was certainly not enough for her. She wanted them to be together in their souls, wanted their very souls to be bonded together but since that was physically impossible, marriage would have to do. So she nodded and kissed him as a response, Erik got the message.

Erik nodded and she blinked as he pulled her to him, and kissed her like she was the only source of oxygen. His tongue drove itself into her mouth and she groaned in unison with him. She had never known Erik to be such a forward and aggressive man and a part of her was frightened by it. But a small part of her was thrilled by it, that she commanded this man's passion so easily. Erik picked her up and then slowly walked her over to the door where César stood neighing peacefully as he chewed on some grass. He set her behind him and then Erik with a gruff 'ya' they went riding off into the sunrise.

The two sat in silence for a while, Christine's arms wrapped securely around his waist as they forest disappeared behind them. Day began to darken to night again, stars wielding above them and the moon as bright as a pearl in the endless ebony sky. It was indeed a beautiful night and the only sound was the clip-clop, clip-clop of the horse's hooves and Erik's breathing. It made her sleepy but she knew better than to doze off on the back of a horse lest she fall off. So they rode on and on till they saw something on the horizon.

Her body ached from the bumping of the horse and she wanted to get off. Her muscles were stiff and the dust in her eyes burned. Erik at last pulled horse to the side where a little inn stood and Christine all but toppled over to the ground, grateful that Erik was there to catch her and carry her in. He very gently set her on her feet so that she stumbled rather unceremoniously onto a chair and laid her head on the table, passing out. Erik turned around hearing her snoring fill the room. Older women were giving her sympathetic looks and older men were making tisking sounds.

People seemed to recognize him from the olden days and there were whispers of 'the thing is back'. Christine could hear them but she just didn't have the energy to glare at them, had she at the moment she would have glared at them and then some. She would have held her head up high and grabbed Erik down for a kiss. She would have kissed him so hard that he would have fallen back in his chair and then told him that she loved him. Christine would have made love to him right there and proved to those snobbish onlookers that what she and Erik had was true love and dared them to challenge her. But right now she was just too tired and was soon snoring loudly onto the wooden table, Erik's arms keeping her warm as she snuggled him.

He lifted her up gently ignoring the murmurs of disapproval from the other patrons as they noted him carrying her off. Erik walked slowly, careful not to jostle her into the shabby room that he had rented and laid her down on the bed where she rolled over and continued her sleep. Erik saw bruising in between her legs from being in the saddle too long and felt a pang of remorse. He went over to the sink and mixed up a solution of warm soapy water to wash her bruises with gently soothing fingers. Erik went to the bed and moved her skirt up around her waist and used a rag to soothe the sore spots. Christine slept through it and when she woke Erik was lying beside her, wide-awake. His eyes were rimmed in darkness and looked like a couple of cherries, deeply set and hooded with fatigue, she wanted him to rest and so she laid him down on the bed but he, being the stubborn man he was got back up.

It was dark outside and when she looked at the bedside clock it read ten thirty in the evening. Her body was chilled by the night breeze and she pulled the coverlet off the bed to wrap it around herself. She watched Erik for a moment as he gathered random things about the room and pulling on his suit-jacket. Christine shook her head as she realized that she was slowly picking up Erik's nocturnal habits as she reminded herself that she hated the dark. She really didn't want to go out at that moment but Erik was already heading toward the door so she grabbed his arm and he turned to her with a question in his eyes.

"Erik we don't need to rush, you are ill."

"No Christine I wish to be married to you as soon as possible." He said.

Christine framed his face in her hand, "but when I got to the cottage you were so sick, I really think you need your rest. I'll be here when you're well."

Erik looked at her with more emotion than she had imagined him capable of, "Oh Christine…" he murmured, his voice raw with untapped emotion, "I was only ill when you were gone…I was dying of love."

"That's madness," she said laughing a little, "Love cannot kill."

Erik sighed and walked to her, placing his hands on her face to make her look at him. The look in his eyes silenced her laughter and made her want to cry. It was a serious look made for penetrating the souls of anyone he looked at. He spoke then softly with a deep graveness to his voice that belied any notions of silliness she thought he had implied. He didn't say anything for several moments, just looked at her and then when she could no longer stand it she kissed him.

"I know, I know it sounds foolish." He said "Love cannot kill but the _absence _of it can." He said.

"I don't understand…" she replied.

"I just can't live without you… my broken heart was killing me. But now that you're here I have no reason to be ill…"

"I don't know whether to find that romantic or sad. "she said and kissed his mouth.

Erik responded for a long moment but kept his tongue out of her mouth because he knew where that might lead, finally he said, "ah my dear it is true, love can heal and love can kill."

Christine was still puzzled by this idea but she had long since ceased attempting to figure out Erik's mind. She supposed that he was referring to what he called was a psychosomatic illness and that he had never really been sick. So she took his proffered hand and followed him just like that first night in the opera house. He led her outside to an open stretch of town as gorgeous as a portrait. It seemed that the sky went on forever and she looked down in awe at the beauty of the night. So, this is what Erik meant by the hidden beauty of the night, a world shrouded in darkness and secrets, it was a world meant for romance and intimacy.

Then she noticed the appearance of a small village before them, smoke rising from the chimneys and everything. It looked like the sort of place Papa had told her about when she was a child straight out of one of his books. Erik sighed as if pained and swung down from his horse to help her. She had fallen asleep on his back despite herself, the long ride tiresome and draining. She groaned softly and did not look too thrilled to be woken up but made no fuss. Instead she looked around the place and shivered, grabbing his hand in hers.

"Where are we?" she asked, having never liked being in new places.

"Bosherville "replied Erik in obvious distaste.

Christine would have pointed out that she saw nothing wrong with the place but the look on his face silenced her. She slipped her fingers through his and let him walk her slowly down a row of old rickety buildings that all looked the same. They walked for a while in silence, hand in hand watching the moon rise and stars peek out from the satiny ink of the sky. It was a beautiful sight and when they reached the final house on the street Christine read the mailbox and in a rust-covered cursive was, 'Father Mansart.' Erik reached up and knocked on the door three times and an old voice, gravelly with age mumbled something about coming, coming.

It was then that she heard something along the lines of ' who could be ringing at this time of evening 'and whoever had woken him better have a good reason for this and so on. It caused Christine to giggle out loud and even Erik smirked. The door creaked open and an old man, looking to be nearly ancient appeared in the doorframe. He had a well-aged face and worry lines as well as ones of laughter and his blue eyes gleamed with tiredness and irritation. He spoke up, his aged voice sounding surprised.

"My child, "he said to the shadows as he put thick spectacles over the edge of his nose, "what brings you to an old man's home at this hour?" he asked and Erik stepped forward.

"Forgive us for disturbing your rest father Mansart." He said, and the old man's eyes bulged.

"_Erik?" _he gasped, "Erik nodded, "Saints be praised lad, what are you doing here?"

"I have come to ask for a favor, me and my fiancé wish to be married." He said.

The Father looked at him, "fiancé?" he echoed, "Well of course, I'd love to marry you but who's the bride?"

Erik pulled Christine forward and the old man's eyes filled with tears and he embraced her with more strength than anyone would have suspected of a man his age. He kissed both her cheeks and her hands one at a time. Tears leaked from his aging eyes and he had the most joyous smile on his face as he hugged Erik and cried all over his shoulder (Erik was considerably taller than him) and pulled them inside. Christine looked puzzled as the man stood before them and looked at Erik and her.

"Aren't you engaged to someone else Miss Daaë?" he asked recognizing her after a moment.

Christine shook her head and grabbed Erik's hand in hers tightly. Erik simply smiled down at her and kissed her head with all the love he had in him. The father was curious but did not press them, obviously

"In all my 86 years," he said, "I never thought I would see the day Erik came to me asking me to marry him to a beautiful woman. Ah, but it's been 25 years since I'd seen the boy."

"Why?" Christine asked.

"Erik's life was not kind to him his mother was… cruel." Father Mansart said with a shake of his saggy head.

Christine could feel Erik tensing and she leaned on him gently kissing his cheek. "That my dear," Erik interjected, "is for another time, it is a sad story and _certainly_ not one for a wedding day." He gave the father a serious look to prove his point.

"Ah yes," The old man agreed, "Shall we get on with it then…follow me…"


	9. Chapter eight- The Wedding

Chapter eight- The Wedding

He got up and found an old, rusty oil lamp to which he lit the flame and walked with a crooked, knobby cane to the door. The Priest walked with them onto the cobblestone street and down rows of quaint houses motioning for them to follow and Christine took her betrothed's hand stepping out into the cold darkness. She shivered as she felt Erik tensing with what seemed to be the memories of every bad thing that had ever happened to him and Christine stopped him in the middle of the square where his silver eyes filled with unshed tears.

"What is it?" She asked.

Erik choked, "It was here where the neighborhood brats killed my only friend my little dog Sasha." He sniffled a little and then he cried softly.

Erik had stopped walking and Christine shook her head, the poor man! What had this world done to him to make his only friend be a dog…and then to have that friend taken from him so suddenly. Not only that, but the fact that these children…_children_ could be so cruel to him as to murder an innocent animal. She pulled him closer and let him cry as he remembered the pains of his childhood. Her wedding could wait, his well-being was more important than that and she knew that if she was to be happy with him she had best put his mind at ease. She kissed his chin warming him with a big hug and allowing him to snuffle into her hair and she nuzzled him.

"She was an innocent animal and she was the only one who loved me…" he sobbed.

She looked at him and for the first time she saw the injured broken child in him and as the phantom crumbled leaving this poor tortured man she felt her just-healed heart break anew. He was so desperate for love that any amount of affection triggered his tears and sadness. Her lover stood still and looked at the starry night trying to hide his tears to no avail and Christine thumbed them away gently. Christine was grateful that he could not hear her inward shouts of hatred to the people who had hurt him over the years—she included herself for leaving him at first and knew it was going to take a lifetime to make him better.

Christine sighed and pulled this weeping man closer and she sat down in his lap right there in the road and the father said nothing but simply stood still to wait for them to be ready. Erik needed someone to love him and all this pain he had been feeling needed to be released. Christine just sat there while he babbled some incoherent gibberish about the past careful to jostle him every few minutes when he started to fall asleep in her arms because they were there to marry. She waited for him to finish, saying nothing to him and waiting for him to quiet. When at last he did she kissed his tears with a tender passion and licked all the tears away gently with every kiss.

Erik soaked up her love, wanting to bottle it and open it whenever these dark moods hit him and though some of his tears were of the tragic memories some of them were of joy. Joy from having such a beautiful woman love him, give up riches and a beautiful young husband to live a life of exile with a living corpse for a groom and an uncertain future in God-only-knew where. It gave Erik pangs of remorse so deep that his whole body shook with more tears than he had ever shed in his life.

"Why?" he sobbed.

"Why what?" she asked puzzled.

"_You look for sympathy, I give you sorrow, you ask for honesty…I've none to borrow…_

_You need my tender kiss, you beg it of me…I give you ugliness!_

_Why do you love me?"_

Christine didn't know what to say to him she just wrapped her arms around his neck, well-aware that the priest was waiting for them and feeling sorry that the old man was forced to stand out in the cold while she dealt with her fiancé's issues but it had to be done. She let him cry himself out and handed him her handkerchief where he blew his nose and folded it into his trouser pocket and she squeezed his hand. She was so busy worrying over Erik that she did not notice the shadow that had been following them since they left the inn.

"I'm sorry, but that's all over now. We are together now my love and no one can undo that." She said at last.

She gave him a tight squeeze around the waist and he wrapped his arms around her torso. Erik leaned down and captured her mouth in a desperate drowning kiss that heated Christine's body all the way to her toes. Damn the man for making her so mad with his every touch, she responded, sliding the lapels of his coat aside she began to unbutton his waistcoat, fully prepared to couple with him right where she was and to hell with the propriety of it. Erik seemed to want to comply when a gruff voice startled them out of their trance and Christine turned bright red. Erik shot the Priest a glare and was met with a mischievous gleam in his old eyes.

Christine blushed like mad and hid her face in her hands as she looked down at her pointed breasts and the bulge growing in Erik's pants. She blushed as she remembered the wildness in them both but when the father cleared his throat. She pulled out of Erik's arms casting her eyes down in a feeble attempt to transform herself into the modest maiden she had once prided herself on being les the father be thinking of her as some kind of wanton who did not care whose presence she was in before she indulged in sins of the flesh.

Any other man would have blanched at the look but the father merely laughed and shook his head, "Boy can't you wait a few hours to have her? Must you make a show of it in public?"

"Forgive me father." Christine said blushing.

The old man chuckled and shook his shaggy head , "I understand why before I took the veil as a father I was quite the amorous young man." He looked sad for a moment and then he said, "may I speak with Erik for a moment…alone…"

Christine looked puzzled but shrugged and Erik followed the old man and what passed between them was shocking. Shocking and absolutely heart-warming, it was the first time Erik had smiled at someone other than her. The old man sat Erik down and placed a crinkly hand on his shoulder. The priest looked hesitant for a moment looking as though he might stop himself before saying what he needed to say. But one look at Erik's eyes, curiously patient and oddly concerned he knew he owed this to him at the very least. He took a deep breath and then slowly very slowly he spoke…

"Erik you are mine…"

"Excuse me?" Erik replied.

"You're my son…" he said and the phantom froze.

Father Mansart took a deep breath and looked at him hoping he would not fly into a rage upon hearing this news. He had never meant to tell Erik this, only on his wedding day as the only gift a poor old man of a father to his only flesh and blood. But to his shame he had never thought this day would come for the boy just like it had never came for his mother and him. He looked at the beauty, waiting patiently in her wedding gown and playing connect-the-dots with her finger and the stars. Ah yes, a beauty just like his mother. But even better was the fact that his beauty loved him so much to leave a very well-loved member of the gentry for him when even Madeline could not do so.

At first all Erik felt was shock and then very slowly he nodded "I had always suspected but I never said anything."

The old man let out a laugh, "I knew you did. That's why I would not let Madeline smother you at birth, ah my boy if only she had loved me back I never would have taken the vows."

"But why did you not tell me sooner?" Erik asked, curious now.

"A man of the church is not allowed to have children, I'd lose my priesthood but I always loved you, and it killed me when I looked into your eyes and knew that I'd be nothing to you but your tutor. Even worse was when Madeline married Charles paying no heed to my broken heart because I was poor,"

Father Mansart hung his old head and when at last Erik spoke, it was almost childlike, "Can I use your name…daddy?"

The old man turned and through his arms around Erik's neck in a squeeze tighter than anything anyone would have suspected of him. Erik hugged him back enjoying the thought that as he had grown up he had one parent that loved him growing up. As impatient as he was to marry Christine he knew he had all night to do that and this moment with his father might never come again. The man was 86 after all and his time was running short. They held each other for several minutes and when he released him he kissed Erik on the head in response and got to his feet.

"Come now let's get you married." He said

Erik nodded and took Christine's hand leading her out the door to a small cracked building with a wooden cross on the room. In the moonlight it looked more like a grim mausoleum then a church. In faded golden letters, it read _Le Madeline. _ Father Mansart reached into his baggy black robes and pulled out a rusty silver key. He unlocked the heavy door with shaky hands and it groaned heavily on its old cracking hinges to reveal a pitch-black interior as old and well-worn as the father. The father went inside and found a long stick to which he lit a match. The sight made Christine shiver, it was gothic and antique, faded velvet covering the seats of the pews and real oak as the frames.

It made Christine shiver as she recalled one of papa's stories about a corpse groom awaiting the bride who abandoned him years ago on the wedding day. She shivered as she remembered the gruesome ending of it where he dragged her down to hell to live in the darkness for all eternity. Christine sighed and inwardly cursed papa for allowing her to grow such a dark and twisted imagination. She turned to her groom, hoping the sight of her love would stop these dark musings but instead it did the opposite. He stood there before her every bit the dark angel she had seen in her mirror.

He was standing before her clad all in black his silk glove firmly holding her hands and his tall frame shadowing hers as he stepped behind her to cover her shoulders with his massive cloak. It was the size of a tent on her but the fur lining was warm so she wasn't complaining. But still when she thought of that story she couldn't shake the feeling that he looked just like the ghoulish groom from that grim tale and it made her shiver. Erik was oblivious to the thoughts going in her mind and she sighed when he wrapped his arms around her waist. The priest looked at them and smiled with a shake of his head giving them an 'I'll be with you in a moment' look and Erik nodded.

She was beginning to feel impatient and fidgeted a little from side to side. Christine looked down at herself in the wedding gown and thought of what she was about to do. She shook her head and thought of how different this was from the wedding of her dreams as a child. She had always thought of herself in a gown with huge multitudes of people wishing her well and papa there. Not alone with a man she knew nothing about save for the fact that his father was a priest and his mother and past were positively awful. But then –to her shame- she had forgotten to list the good things she knew about him and set about reminding herself of the most important thing about her lover.

He loved her and that his voice rivaled the angels. But still here she was standing with the most damned man in Paris to become his otherwise ill-fated bride. No, it wasn't what she imagined, it was better. She was here on a gorgeous night with the man she loved about to start a life with him as soon as the old man was ready and so she stood there smiling like a bloody great goon from ear to ear. Christine was grinning so much that she worried that by the time she got to the altar her mouth was going to be too sore to say her vows.

He put up his hand and went to the altar where he crossed himself before the Madonna and the crucifix above him. He then went to a large cabinet and stood there before muttering something about the wrong key. He found the correct one and reached in removing the required items. She stood there in the doorway with Erik as the priest unlocked the door and stepped inside. He lit the candles and placed a larger candle in the center. He motioned with a gnarled finger for her to step forward with Erik and turn to look at each other. Christine saw all of his emotions and his love as Father Mansart came forward with two chalices of water and a beautiful stone-studded goblet which he filled with wine.

"Dearly beloved we are gathered here today in the sight of god to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony."

Christine closed her eyes and let Erik tie a knot in the soaked white silk dipped in holy water. Erik shook his head as she laid her hand in his and allowed the father to sprinkle the water over her hands. The father said a prayer and when their eyes met she saw everything he was. He all but felt his hands trembling and hated himself for it because he was such a powerful man. Erik was a man who many feared and loathed yet when it came to Christine he was like a silly little schoolboy tripping all over himself. She was blushing like mad too as she kissed his hands and waited for the ceremony to begin and when it did she found herself shaking from head to foot.

"Erik take Christine's hand in yours now and say your vows."

Erik had trouble taking her hand as he was tied to her but when at last he had managed it Christine felt their chemistry start to crackle. He closed his shaking fingers around hers. Erik's eyes held all the fear in the world but He bit back all hesitation as he walked away from her then, causing the Father to look at him in surprise and he turned to Christine with a shaky voice and kissed both her hands. Erik seemed to be just as frightened but when he spoke his voice was clear and as authoritative as it had been in his old teaching days.

"In this time we marry, and in this time we begin a life full of trials and tribulations also many joys. With this ring I, Erik Léopold Mansart II, take thee Christine Josephina Daaë to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold for better or for worse in sickness and in richer or poorer…in sickness and in health and till death do us part. With this ring I pledge my heart, my soul and everything I am to you. With this ring I you wed. "

Christine shook her head with a smile and took the golden grasshopper ring from his hand, trying not to smirk at the ironic symbolism of it all. But still the pear wings and diamond eyes were beautiful and as she raised the onyx scorpion ring she placed it on his hand and her eyes fill up.

"In this time we marry, and in this time we begin a life full of trials and tribulations also many joys. With this ring I, Christine Josephina Daaë take thee Erik Léopold Mansart II to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold for better or for worse in sickness and in richer or poorer…in sickness and in health and till death do us part. With this ring I pledge my heart, my soul and everything I am to you. With this ring I you wed. "

"By the power invested in me by the father the son and the Holy Ghost I now pronounce you Erik and Christine Mansart as a sign of your union you may now kiss the bride." He closed his bible and blessed them with the sign of the cross.

Then Erik kissed her. _Oh God did he kiss her_.It held all the emotion she never thought him capable of. The couple turned just as Christine thought she saw a camera flash out of the corner of her eye but she was too happy to care, they followed the priest back to the inn. He kissed Christine and hugged Erik watching them with a smile as they disappeared up the stairs to their room. As he laughed and walked down the stairs back to his little cottage he looked up at the sky crying tears of joy.

"Well done my boy…very well done indeed…"


	10. Chapter 9-Wedding night dreams

Chapter 9

Wedding night dreams

When at last the door closed behind them she turned and kissed his lips. He deepened it slightly. They broke away and he went to the fireplace, lighting a cheerful blaze that belied the raging lust within him. It took her a moment to focus as she looked down at the beautiful gown she was in; she thought it a pity to undress so soon but when she glanced at her husband and she knew he intended to enjoy himself. He walked over to the other side of the room and handed her a glass of complementary champagne and poured it into two glasses. He handed her one and stopped her when she moved to undo her gown.

"Not yet Angel," he said, "let's enjoy tonight, we've got the rest of our lives to make love."

_The rest of their lives,_ Erik found a smile spreading over his face and he regretted it because his face was grotesque. But she just reached up and kissed his malformed lips and kept her hands on his shoulders. He felt her so close to him and it made him warm just to inhale her perfume of jasmine and lotus blossom. It was drugging, deeply so and she saw his eyes spark. Christine found herself laughing at how human he was when it came to sex but how extremely methodical he was. How he took her hand and sat her in front of the glowing fire and undue the pins of her bridal veil.

Her husband set the diamond hairpins on the table; they caught the same intimate light that the couple had in their eyes. He ran his fingers through her curls and sat behind her and pulled her back to him so that she was reclining on his lap. Erik alternately sipped the champagne and kissed her lips in an easy cycle. She held his head there and kissed him deeply and he held him there. He kissed her lips and filled her glass as he broke away from her helping her sit up. Erik couldn't help marveling at how beautiful she was in that gown and even more so he knew the body waiting for it underneath it.

Erik smiled at her and kissed her head as they touched their glasses and sipped the wine saying nothing to each other. He framed her face and then leaned in the wine warming them both from the chill of the evening. Christine sighed and moved one lock of hair back from her face only to have it fall in her face again. Erik laughed deeply and then he tucked it behind her ear as he lifted her onto his lap. Their faces were just inches away from each other and she felt him whisper her name and close the distance between them.

He tasted the wine on her lips, drugging and easy to get hooked on. She straddled his lap and he hiked her dress higher as he pinned her there and ran his hands over her hot, bear skin. He never got tired of how beautiful she was, how accepting she was. He kissed her mouth deeply, draining both of their breaths till she was leaning back on his chest. Her arms came around him and she kissed his throat as she drained his oxygen. Erik pulled away, gasping as he slid his hands up to feel her breasts through the fabric of her corset.

He leaned in and kissed her deeply, his tongue finding every inch of her mouth. He bought his hand up and pinned her head there till he considered her thoroughly kissed and then slid his hand down to cup the fullness oh her left breast. Through the silk of her gown he could feel the rosebud of her nipple hardening beneath his thumb and index finger. Her body fell against him and she gasped as the pebble that was her nipple became as hard as a cherry-stone with the rosy pulp still attached. He wanted to nurse there, latch on to her sweet breast and suck the love she had for him into his very soul.

He replaced his hand on her neck with his lips whispering, "You're so beautiful…"

He slid her sleeve off and tasted the skin of her bare shoulder and ran his lips down her pale shoulder and replaced it with his gentle fingers. She was heating up, her skin becoming more and more sensitive to his touch. Erik smiled as her skin turned rosy and she moaned softly when he licked intimately at the back of her neck and pulled her collar a little so he could inhale the smell of her perfume. He loved the way she smelled, of vanilla and roses with just a hint of cinnamon. She tasted just as sweet as she smelled and he found himself intoxicated on it.

"Drop your gown love." He whispered against her skin.

She groaned at the roughness of his normally honeyed voice, it was gravelly and primal as his silver eyes watched her slowly unbutton her dress. Her blue eyes were glinting as she took her time undressing, enjoying the way his manhood was raising slowly. It was bulging and the want on his face was a more than a little obvious. She took her time undoing her dress, exposing her breasts to him first. She took one of his hands and placed it on her breast warmth and light and when he bent to nurse there and she held his head in place moaning as he set her on fire.

"I hate these things." He said.

Christine giggled being the proper lady she was; she would never admit she hated them too. She began to fumble with the hooks of the corset and Erik grew impatient. He walked forward tugging at her corset. Erik pulled it roughly until it came loose with a loud crackle and then a tearing sound. She giggled at how aggressive he was and how eager she was to do it. He tossed the garment across the room silencing her laughter with a breath-stealing kiss and slammed her against the wall. Her back made a crashing sound and thudded on the wall as she wrapped her arms around him. He kissed her until stars wielded overhead, both of them gasping when he pulled away from her. Her lips were swollen from his kiss, shiny and wet as he hung his head for a moment to catch his breath.

Erik lifted his head and met the eyes of his wife, his _wife _what a thought. Her chest was heaving with passion already and the sight of her breasts heaving made his mouth water. Thankfully he swallowed it and maintained his dignity but still he placed his hand on her breasts. She closed her eyes, feeling how sensitive she was to his touch.

The candlelight cast many shadows on the walls all rose colored and Christine dropped her robe before him. He stole a look at her body, enjoying the benefits of being married more and more as he went along. His eyes traveled over every crevice of her body, every cavern of her nakedness. He imagined the beautiful drawings of her he had done back in his underground home. How he had long ago memorized every line of her from watching behind her mirror. He remembered those cold lonely nights when he would dream of her and pleasure himself to the perfect visions in his mind.

Those visions had always been enough to excite him but now here she was. The real thing and she was completely and utterly his. He felt himself stiffening almost immediately, goddamn the woman and the affect she had on him. Erik came up behind her and rained kisses all the way down her back each one hotter and wetter than the last. He kissed her, his tongue lapping at every last inch of her and his hands framing her bottom to give it the occasional squeeze as he placed a very moist kiss on the side of her throat causing her to moan softly.

Yes, this was real here she was in flesh and blood and her warmth was driving him mad. Those visions were nothing like this and though he had done this with him before he felt something break like a twig inside of him. He had half a mind to pin her to the wall and just have it done with till he was completely spent inside her but he just stood there allowing her to toy with him as he secretly indulged himself in the pleasure of having such a beautiful woman set him on fire.

"Erik…" his name on her lips was sultry, heated with lust as she flicked her tongue over the skin of his bare throat. "You taste so _good_." She said.

Erik groaned feeling his manhood start to rise as she lowered her hand to the crotch of his pants and cupped him through the fabric of his trousers. He felt himself throbbing underneath her tiny hand. Christine smiled as she remembered the shyness of him, and how it was quickly he flared but strived for control. She was going to make him lose it, and she was going to do it now. She pressed her body against his, loving the way he responded when she pressed her soft body against him.

His heart was pounding as his arms came around her naked body and his muscles tightened through the thin fabric of his shirt. She kissed him and then very slowly pulled his shirt over his head; his mask gleamed at her as he stood half-naked before her. Christine looked up at him bare-chested his muscles covered in light hairs and his abs glistening with sweat. Erik's breathing was hard, his chest was heaving and the corded muscles looked as if they were moving on their own. His eyes were blazing with that primal look that she had seen in that woodland cottage.

He was covered in sweat, eyes smoky and his body rosy with a heavy masculine blush. He was no longer the phantom, no he was a man and she was a woman. She looked at him and felt something primal rise in her throat as she realized he was hers. This strong animalistic man was her husband. He was hers, to love, to protect, to bear heirs with his almost supernatural genius. What a thought to have children with this man.

He seemed to be having a typical male response and then to prove his point he kissed her deeply and she groaned as a man so deprived of affection for so many years could make her feel this way. She splayed her fingers over his left bicep and guided his hand to her bare thigh. She kissed him and he slipped his fingers into her entrance. She was hot, tight and wet for him and he already recalled the feeling of himself buried deep inside her. He pressed his fingers deeper inside her and he felt her start to release. He quickened his pace until he felt her muscles clamp down on his hand and she shook all over.

She felt it then, that rush of heat and liquid pleasure that only he could bring she felt it wet the sides of her legs and then he pushed his finger deeper inside her finding the hole where her barrier was. That's when he hit her center and she felt herself release completely. He liked her response and knew for the first time that they were not any different than a normal husband and wife. He was a man, she was a woman and they were making love. Christine groaned and leaned on him as he dropped his other hand there to entangle in the golden mass of curls at her apex.

"Mmm…Erik yes…"

Christine was no longer a virgin, but the first time she did it he was shy and unsure. Now, having experience he was not shy about doing different things to her. She reached down and pulled off his pants, teasing his balls with her hands. He was as hard as granite; all the years of celibacy making him want to empty himself in her right now, and he lifted her to straddle him. Christine wrapped her legs around him and settled right over the pulse of his erection. He wanted her to help him enter her and she knew it.

His eyes lit up when she reached down and gripped his shaft causing him to groan. He found that he loved when she touched him like this and she loved his reaction. Her small hand stroked him from base to tip and he groaned wanting to do for her what she enjoyed. He knew that she wanted him inside her, just brushing her entrance made her groan. The sound inflamed him and he heard every single lyric to every provocative aria he had ever heard. Every song of sex, lust, and copulation he had ever heard. They rang through his mind as loud and powerful as a pipe organ beautiful and earth-shattering. He carried her to the bed and laid her down on the mattress.

She looked up at her husband, the scarred muscles covered in a glistening sheen of sweat as his member pulsed like a sword. There was strain on his face and he looked just like a warrior ready to bed his ladylove after a long battle. He lowered himself with her into her entrance and she cried out as he fit them together. He stayed like that for a moment and then he moved inside her, hiding his face in her shoulder as she held onto the back of his head. He pushed himself in deeper moving harder until she was moaning.

He pinned her on the bed and held her still, realizing for the first time that he was a very possessive dominant man. He liked to have her underneath him, the way she made him feel invincible. It was strange and freeing to know that she liked the way he sheltered her with his strong body, the way he made her helpless with need. Erik felt his body raging and god help him, he loved his own aggression. He would never abuse her, no, he would sooner die than do that, sooner destroy everything he owned and kill himself. But Erik was a man and he did intend to be the master of his marriage bed.

This was the one thing he would not give up for her, this was his power over her, and the only one he would ever allow himself to have. She could have his heart, his soul everything that he was but in bed he was the one in control. She knew it too and was more than happy to surrender to his will. He took his time, memorizing every inch of her body, every hollowed curve and shadow of her pale skin. He made a claim on her body with every touch incredibly tender but making sure that she knew only he could conjure these feelings in her.

Christine kissed him deeply and he held her head in place knowing what she wanted. He was master but he would be a generous one and give to her the same that he received. He laid his face between her breasts and gave her little nips on his chest. He eased the sting of them with moist kisses all the way back to her mouth where he dragged himself up inside her in a slow aching rhythm. Christine moaned softly as he hit her _there_ again and again until she was helping him. Her hips matched his rhythm and then he felt it. Erik felt himself beginning to release; it felt as if a great pressure was being released from his body an immense feeling of relief.

"Yes…angel… tell me what you want." He whispered using the last of his control to speak.

She said nothing but pulled him down for a deep kiss as he rocked himself into her and she shattered around him. He felt himself going over the edge and then he spilled himself into her. They lay there still joined with one another as Christine lay beneath him and sighed, not wanting him to unjoin them but feeling sore. He pulled out of her and looked out the window where the sub was just peaking over the horizon. Her hair was shining in the golden sunlight and her eyes shut. Erik kissed her and covered her up.

He was enjoying watching her sleep and about to fall into dreamland himself there was a knock at the door. Erik growled and tossed his slacks pulling the door open to see his father standing there with a grin on his face that Erik would have liked to knock off for interrupting him and his wife. But the old man looked unfazed as he handed Erik two small slips of paper. He looked down at them and written in gilded cursive was the words: _ship:_ Persephone: _Time: _8:00 a.m. _Destination_: Coney Island, United States of America._ Class_: 1st.

"What's this?" he asked.

"A wedding gift, I know your history son and you have got to be out of here right now. Take your wife and go far from here but do not forget to write." He said and hugged him.

"I won't papa…" Erik said, choking on gratitude.

"The carriage is waiting to take you and Christine to the docks."

Erik thanked his father and the old man left without another word. He turned to his beautiful wife, snoozing peacefully. It seemed a shame to wake her but it had to be done. He dressed her in her gown and she simply flopped around like a ragdoll allowing him to carry her out. Erik grinned knowing that he had probably worn her out. They rode in silence, the Persephone looming in the distance. Erik handed the doorman the tickets and stepped on. He sat in silence watching his wife sleep as the ship pulled away for the long journey to a new world. It would be three months…three months on a ship and then a fresh start.

He looked down at his sleeping wife wondering what he would tell her when she woke. How would she react? Erik decided to wait till she woke up to tell her and laid down, he closed his eyes. He would wait till she woke to explain the situation, for now he let himself slip into dreamland…content to be warm and safe and go back to his wedding night dreams…


	11. Chapter 10:Reactions

Chapter 10

Reactions

Erik laid awake long after they were on the boat, too restless to sleep while unanswered questions plagued his mind. for what felt like hours watching the sun slowly reach its highest point over the cerulean water. From the corner of his eye he saw the water through the circular window of the cabin, noticing how much it looked like sheets of gossamer silk and blue satin. Erik made a note to make Christine a dress of this exact shade when they landed, a smile creeping over his face as the imagined his young beautiful wife in such a gown. Her strawberry blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight as he and her walked hand-in-hand down the street, she looks like a beautiful fairy queen and he her mighty black-clad guardian.

They would be the perfect star-studded couple she would be famous at the Manhattan opera where she would awe the masses with a voice that people would die to hear. He would open a small music school where just down the street he would teach people mediocre music skills as their minds were not big enough to handle the purity of real music. They would pay him handsomely of course because Americans were just dumb enough to pay richly for a life of simplicity. Erik grinned as he imagined what he would buy with that money and how rich he would become. The first thing he would buy would be the best of everything; he wasn't quite sure what everything was but he was going to get Christine everything he could possibly afford.

He could see them together, him in his opera cape in a four-horse carriage helping his beautiful bride step down from an elegant ebony coach in that blue dress. For once people would look at him not in disgust but in envy. He would brush her lips as he took her inside to her work where he would leave her at her dressing room door with a kiss and a wish for a good show. He could just see when she would finish her performance and he would kiss her and hand her more roses than she could carry. She would smile and kiss him deeply on the lips in front of the entire ballet to prove their love.

Erik would smile back and steal one last kiss before he went to box five for the show, not really watching the show but the audience. It was more of a pleasure for him to watch the men drool over her knowing that she was entirely and irrevocably his. Erik was amused by the lust on their faces and would pity them the rotting that their souls would do when they find out she was married. He would of course, forget them and become lost in his wife's voice standing with the crowd at the end, feeling that swell of love and other –ungentlemanly feelings- rise within him when he saw her again and race to her room to kiss her and declare their love.

He would offer her his arm and she would take it and they would wave to the shocked masses as she kissed his masked cheek. They would leave into the moonlit town back to the carriage where they would take a romantic and leisurely ride to the comfortable apartment they owned together. She would be grumpy on the ride home (she always hated carriage rides because of how bumpy they are) complaining about the way it made her bottom sore. He would pull her on his lap obligingly and she would cuddle closer to him dozing off a little. She would drowse until he woke her with a tender kiss upon their arrival where he would carry her over the threshold and remove her wrap.

He would deposit her on the comfy sofa after helping her hang up her coat. There, she would relax and read a book in the sitting room while he made her a cup of her favorite English tea with milk to soothe any stress on her throat. He would light a warm fire as he set her cup down, she would thank him and sip the tea the warmth making her sleepy. Erik saw himself sitting down with her as the book fell slowly fell from her hand. He would read it to her with great animation it would be one of those sad romances that she loved so much. His voice will sap the rest of her stress and she would curl up on him like a kitten. They would fall asleep like that; it would be this way for the rest of their lives...just her and him and their love.

They would grow old side by side together having people come to see the home of the great retired diva and her oddity husband. People would gather around to hear her still-beautiful voice sing an old song from their past. She would pick a duet and his eyes would mist over with happy tears as he weakly finished it with her. Their voices no longer holding the power that had astonished the masses but still in the same emotional state that brought people to tears. The people would leave when the song was done and Erik would go inside to his typewriter and scratch out his memoir which would be a best-seller about the man with the face of death and his beautiful love.

Christine would come at the end of the night and pull him up from his chair and take him to bed. They would be too old to make love by then so Erik would cover her up and she would hide in his shoulder whispering into his skin about the memories of their lives when they were young. He would kiss her head and tell her he loved her and then in their old age they would die in each other's arms leaving their friends to find them in love even in death come the morning.

It was a beautiful fantasy, almost like the end of this horror story with a, 'and they lived happily ever after' at the end. Erik found himself laughing deeply, the deep soft sound filled with an amount of joy that he had not felt in years if he ever had. His life, like many opera's was a sad story, one of pain and torture, of utter despair. But unlike the opera, he had his happy ending at last, just like the tale of Beauty and the Beast. Only this time Belle truly loved the beast in his every form, as massacred and twisted as he appeared. Though he would never truly be the handsome prince, though his curse was forever she truly loved him.

He looked down at his sleeping wife and wondered how she could sleep so deeply when they were on this rocking boat. His laughter grew a little louder and he pulled off his shirt looking at the scars on his chest. He shook his head, the salty air caressing his bare skin. This time he tipped his head back letting the cool wind tickle his throat and chuckling at the sensation. He had never laughed to himself in anything but the unbridled genius of his wicked intentions. But now, he laughed for the simple enjoyment of being able to do so. So that was just what he did, he laughed at the beauty of everything, the light the joy, the prospect of the future and above all the beauty and newness of it.

He could not believe how little he had noticed the beauty of the daylight world, how he had always scorned it as garish and insignificant. True the night held a special kind of subtle elegance, the kind where lovemaking could be done by the soft light of candles. The night was meant for music, passion and secrets, its colors of flame and sex and romance where the daytime colors were too bright and pale and sometimes stung the eyes. But he had never really noticed just how many different shades of color there were. The only thing missing from this perfect scene was music and he tried to think of an appropriate aria for the situation when the musician in him tuned into the strange music of the sea.

It was a strange and interesting music, but a charming one unlike anything Erik had ever heard. The sounds were vibrant and filled with new life richer than anything he had ever seen. He heard the sounds of gulls cawing and squawking as the waves sloshed against the side of the boat. It's steady even rhythm as it thumped in a disconnected tune more freeform than he was used to but it still had its beauty as did any music. His mind silently drummed up lyrics that his voice did not say out of respect for his wife who was sleeping in his lap. He ran his fingers through her hair tenderly to ease her deeper into her nap and it seemed to work because if it were possible she felt even heavier with the weight of her rest.

He laughed gently to himself at the thought of anyone waking her because it was impossible to wake the woman. She was such a deep sleeper that the only thing that could wake her was those awful thunderstorms that she was frightened of. Erik ran his hand unconsciously through her curls, silently reassuring her that no one would ever hurt her again. He tried to say it out loud for so many months but it was just one of those things that had no words. No words, no music, and no nothing could describe the love he had for her.

Deep in the shadows he found himself hearing a wordless song in his mind. It was one of love by the sound of the tune. He had no words for it however, but then when he looked down at her he felt words coming before he could stop them. There melody did not match the outside music but they matched the feelings pooling in his heart. They were lyrics of love, romance and the purest intentions, not like the ones he had written for Christine in Don Juan Triumphant. These words were innocent and romantic and almost as disgustingly cute as what the fop had sang to her on the roof that painful night a year ago. But these lyrics were made of what he felt, there was no request or demands in these word… just pure and honest love.

_"I've waited a hundred years_

_But I'd wait a million more for you_

_Nothing prepared me for the privilege of being yours_

_If I had only felt the warmth within your touch_

_If I had only seen how you smile when you blush_

_Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough_

_I would have known what I was living for_

_What I've been living for_

_Your love is my turning page_

_Only the sweetest words remain_

_Every kiss is a cursive line_

_Every touch is a redefining phrase_

_I surrender who I've been for who you are_

_Nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart_

_If I had only felt how it feels to be yours_

_I would have known what I've been living for all along_

_What I've been living for…"_

Christine sighed and curled up into him, her lips parted as she snored into his shoulder. The sound made him want to sleep too and so he tucked her head snuggly under his chin. Her hair was silky like a beautiful little blanket to keep his poor face warm, soothing the itchiness that his mask caused. It wasn't long before he felt himself sleeping, too comfortable to fight it. It was amazing that she had that kind of effect on him so as to both soothe him to the point of sleep or to inflame him with her kiss and her passion. He pulled her into his arms, so that he was her bed. Erik loved how warm she was, how good she always smelled and inhaled deeply as he fell asleep.

Christine woke up soon afterwards feeling pleasantly warm and peaceful in Erik's gentle arms. She had no idea where she was or how she got there one minute she was with him on a boat. Christine smiled at first, thinking this was a dream of some sort and any moment now she would awaken in the inn. But then she blinked her eyes twice over and noticed that she was awake. Christine went as white as a sheet. Erik was snoring softly with his chin atop her head, making tiny gurgling sounds that Christine admittedly found adorable. Who knew that the Phantom could make such small noises as he slept?

He looked so innocent and vulnerable laying there snoozing away like a little baby. She looked at her husband and felt a tender smile touching her lips as she watched him snuggling into the pillow, hiding his face in its softness. Christine laughed and kissed him on the cheek like people did in the stories. He responded even in his sleep by rubbing her head gently with his hands tenderly before relaxing again. Christine found herself stroking his head, toying with the tufts of dark hair as she remembered how gentle he was. She removed the mask and head-piece and ran her fingers over the marred flesh and holes tenderly as though she were trying to soothe the ache that she knew the wounds must cause him. He mumbled something akin to her name and nuzzled the top of her head with his stubble-roughened chin.

It seemed a shame to wake him but she needed some answers and so she jostled him slightly. Erik moaned softly and then his raindrop peeked open a crack, he smiled at her sleepily and pulled her close to him again. His eyes shut and he went back to sleep and Christine curious as she was to find out where her husband had taken her got up to look around. The room was made of beautiful but well-warn wood in need of a good polishing, there was a tub and stove in the corner for taking a hot bath. Erik was lying on the cot sleeping away and the windows were circular and there was nothing but blue outside.

It wasn't long before she noticed that she was on a boat. Not that she minded boats; papa took her sailing all the time when they lived in the house by the sea, but still the whole thing was a rather curious affair all together. Christine felt a smile creeping over her face and shook her head at her sleeping husband with a loving glance. Erik and his surprises, he was probably whisking her away to spoil her for a little while and then bring her back to Paris to start their lives together. He woke up when a wave jostled him grunting like any normal man would at the unpleasantness of being woken. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, leaning his head down on his chest for a moment to catch his mind dozing off again and wake up. Christine shook her head apologetically at him and kissed him as a way of saying sorry for disturbing his rest. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap where they kissed for a long moment.

She pushed him down on the bed and began to deepen the kiss as she pulled open the buttons of his cravat. He kissed her back his hands automatically finding his favorite place on her body. Christine groaned softly when his tongue darted in her mouth and sucked her breath straight from her lungs. He slouched a little so that he was over her in his favorite position of dominance; she anchored him to her mouth in a long drugging kiss that he groaned into. His arms came around her and she moaned as she loosened her gown feeling herself start to burn with that feeling of lust only he could arouse. She began to move his hand to her breasts but he pushed lightly a negative sign that puzzled her.

"Angel stop I need to talk to you." He said regretfully pulling away.

"Shush Erik we have the rest of our lives to talk we are on our honeymoon so let's just enjoy ourselves for the moment and worry about idle chatter later."

Erik shook his head; his poor wife thought they were on a honeymoon and seemed so happy about it. He got to his feet, swallowing hard he took a deep steadying breath and took both her hands in his. The trust in her blue eyes, the love everything, it broke his heart over ruining this moment with her. He shook his head and kissed her lips, wanting to pour every apology he would find himself too sorry to actually voice. She responded accordingly, her hands cupping the back of his head and deepening it. He pulled away and looked at her framing her face, and then he finally spoke.

"Christine, we aren't on our honeymoon."

"We aren't?" she echoed.

"No," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "We are moving to America because someone found out who I am…"

He waited uneasily for her to respond as her eyes widened and she backed away from him. His heart was breaking at the sight of what appeared to be blatant rejection. Erik wished she would say something, anything to show that she did not hate him. But she said nothing instead all the color drained from her face. He said her name but she didn't hear him, she took a shallow and shaky and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she swayed. The last thing she felt was Erik catching her as her world went black.


	12. Chapter 11 Washing away your troubles

Chapter 11

Washing away your troubles

She had not taken the news well, that was evident and as Erik stared at her he thought his head was going to burst from the stress. He had just ruined his life with the woman he loved and it wasn't even dry on the marriage certificate. Erik looked at the tickets to America wishing he had been normal not for the first time, then he would not have been a wanted man and his courtship with Christine would not be so hard. He looked at his unconscious wife, shaking his head. If she hated him, he would not blame her, he had once again ruined her life.

She'd had the world at her feet, gorgeous, set to marry the most eligible bachelor in France, the envy of every woman. Christine could have been the most beautiful Vicomtesse in the world. Christine might have been beautiful dressed in bright sunny clothes and jewels that would make the Khahunum's crown jewels look like paste. If she had stayed with her boy she might be pregnant by now and raising her own little brood of golden-throated angels. Not like with him, he would never give her children, they would be repulsive and hideous like him and must never be born. Tears began to leak down his face at all the things she might have had in her life had he been selfless enough to send her back to her boy.

He sat there sighing and groaning to himself as a thousand 'if onlys' began running ramped through his mind. Erik thought to himself that if only he had not been so selfish as to fall in love with such a beautiful woman when he himself was so grotesque. Oh if only he had been born handsome then maybe he could give her everything she deserved in this life. If only he could control his wretched, traitorous heart then she could live her full life but no he was so weak that he gave into the urges and demands of his betraying love, robbing her life of the light she could have had.

But he had fallen victim to the urge of his biological body and now it was too late. They were married and he was taking her away to a new land, where she didn't know a soul and lost all her friends. It didn't matter how much she claimed to love him he was a selfish and cruel man and he did not deserve her. First, he had caused her to fall in love with him thus ruining her chances with the man that rightfully deserved her and then he spirited her away to a foreign land. Thus, ending her career and taking her away from her friends and family to live with him in a life of exile where she could never be in the Paris opera again. She would never be famous now, not the way she had envisioned and it was his entire fault. He looked up at the ceiling and cursed himself, some husband he was!

Beside him, she sighed and turned over, stirring in her bed. Erik couldn't face his wife, not after everything he had done to her, tricking her like he had always done. He looked up at his wife and he felt his insides tearing. She had been happy with him and then he had gone and ruined it. He wished they were on their honeymoon, so that they could be happy and he really could be a normal man just on a vacation with his newly wedded bride. Just like everybody else. But no, he just had to go and kill two people in bloody public and ruin everything. Erik felt horrible, a poor excuse for a man, no _not even a man_ he was a rat.

He shivered as he stared at his beautiful normal wife like the rat he was he scurried to the corner, curled up in a ball and cried. Erik had never hated himself as much as he did in that moment and found comfort in the only thing he had constantly in his life. Music, he thought of a perfect song for this moment, a song of hatred and self-loathing that begged the one question he knew he would never have answered. It was the one thing that no one had an answer to and if he asked her she would tell him she just did and why couldn't he accept that. Still the words came out of her before he could silence them.

**'She looks for sympathy, I give her sorrow. She asks for honesty, I've none to borrow.**

**She needs my tender kiss, she _begs_ it of me! I give her _ugliness_…why does she love me?'**

Christine woke to a pounding headache and the sound of Erik's voice singing softly. She groaned and turned to meet Erik's silver eyes which were filled with worry. He kissed her head and she could feel the tears on her forehead as he cried softly. She ran her fingers through her hair and then reached up to touch his cheek. He looked down at her and turned away from her in tears, walking to the other side of the room and sitting down in a chair. Erik laid his head on his knees and groaned wearily from the stress, causing her to look at him in concern. What had happened to make him so distraught?

"Mmm, Erik dear?"

No response, she looked over at him and paled. He was curled up in the fetal position, crying so hard that all that came out was a ragged gasping sound. It sounded like he had been choking on the very air he was attempting to breathe in and it worried her to no end. She wondered about this for several moments and rubbed her sore head after a moment, groaning. Her husband was a curious man that was for sure, one minute he was joyful and passionate and the next he was a weeping child. Not only that but his mood swings gave her a headache as it was. One minute he loved her and the next minute he did not want to come near her and to make matters worse she had no idea why.

As far as she knew she had gone to sleep and was waking up and now he was crying. It wasn't the sad sort of crying where silent tears shook the frame with the force of uncontrollable grief. No, these tears were the wretched kind that she had heard the night he had crawled before her as a broken creature more animal than human. Weeping, pleading, begging for love and just one chance to be a normal man and have the love he had never known. It broke her heart then and it still did now, even worse was that it seemed senseless. She had given him everything and he still wasn't happy about it, or was there something else she did not know about?

"Are you all right?" she asked, worried.

Erik lifted his head, sniffling like a child and he crawled over to her to sit by her bed before hiding again "I'm sorry," said her husband, "I did not mean to bring you here."

"It's all right darling, there is no need to cry so…"

She got up and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and placing a gentle kiss on the side of it. He was so moved by this simple gesture that he had to respond and placed his hand over hers. Christine massaged his shoulders, the muscles in them popping and crackling painfully and Erik groaned at the relief that the simple pressure gave him, after so many years of neglecting his body and falling asleep over his organ after long bouts of insomnia that lasted for days his back hurt so badly. He had actually become accustomed to the ache, so much so in fact that not having it felt strange to him.

Strange and oddly exhausting, the relief from the tension that had kept him on his bouts of wakefulness was sapped out of him. His insomnia and physical pain was growing weaker and he felt his head fall forward against the wall with a light thud. The impact woke him and he groaned rubbing the bumped spot on his head. Erik let out a huge yawn, and sank down against the wall preparing to fall asleep. He heard his wife making a soft tisking noise and muttering, 'poor man' as his head flopped back on his now-loosened shoulders to land aimlessly against the air Christine lifted him gently to the bed where he fell into his nap.

She laughed gently and rose from the bed, deciding a hot bath would do her some good as she still smelled of the lovemaking from their wedding night. Not that she minded Erik's scent in fact she rather enjoyed it, the musky smell of faded roses and bitter incense but still she did feel rather sticky. So she got up and heated some water in the kettle before pouring the steaming liquid into the tub and waited a moment to cool. She slipped her gown off and stepped in enjoying the way the water embraced her body and how the soap made tiny bubbles as it scrubbed all the dirt away. Christine leaned her head back against the rim of the tub and found herself losing track of time only becoming aware of her surroundings when she heard Erik let out a sleepy groan.

"Hello dear," she said, "pleasant rest?"

Erik said nothing as she rose like a beautiful mermaid from the hot water, her body glistening and shiny with moisture. It took everything in him to stifle the groan rising in his throat, as he felt himself stiffening at the sight of her. Erik felt his pants stretching at the sight of her and he knew he was as hard as granite. He reached down to soothe himself, his body throbbing with urges he did not even know he possessed. Good God did the woman have any idea what she did to him? She had no right to look as beautiful as she did and make him forget the gentlemanly manners that his father had instilled in him during tutorial visits.

His mind was picturing the most sinful thoughts of his wife as he imagined himself licking the droplets from her naked body. He felt his mouth water as he remembered the taste of her skin beneath his hot mouth as he sucked at her skin and thought the water would taste just as sweet. He cursed himself for having had a taste of true carnal pleasure so that he thought of taking her and felt the need for dominance that came whenever his desires were aroused.

"Hello?" She asked, "Earth to Erik…"

She noticed that he was none-responsive and then followed his eyes down to the apex at her center. Christine rolled her eyes and reached behind her, scooping up her slipper from the floor and tossed it at his head. It bumped him but had no effect as it made her breasts bounce and his eyes moved to them. Christine let out a sigh and wrapped herself in a towel and sat on the bed wringing out her hair, rather enjoying being admired by the man. It was just then that she was frightened by a loud boom of thunder and, letting out a shriek huddled under the covers.

Erik however was not so lucky and with a cry of, "Fuck!" was tossed head long into the bathtub full of greying water and got a very nasty surprise as it nearly skulled his scalp off.

To make matters worse he accidently hit the shelf that she had placed the skiver of carbolic soap and her soap-cutting knife on. Unfortunately the piece she had cut out was mouthful sized and when he lifted his head to breathe the piece fell down into his mouth. In his surprise he swallowed the chunk resulting in a massive coughing fit that worried his wife. The worry vanished after a moment when she realized again just why she had taken that bath in the first place. Christine paled as she realized he had just gotten a mouthful of her…

"Oh goodness are you all right?" she asked.

"What…the…bloody hell…were you washing off?" Erik gasped.

Christine blushed, "Well I've been this boat for a couple days and haven't had a decent bath since our wedding night…"

Erik gave a 'are you serious' look before reaching the tub and grapping her knife, "and why the hell were you using a _knife _in the bathtub if you have a self-harm issue tell me." He looked concerned.

"No dearest," she placed her hand on his sopping cheek, "I was using it to save soap."

"You were trying to 'save soap' why in God's name is that is there a soap shortage here?" he as he coughed up a mouthful of bubbles and Christine giggled. "In any case if you had not been trying to save soap then I would not have swallowed it— stop laughing at me—I remain unamused! "

He hiccupped twice and bubbles came out both times, Christine found this rather silly and popped them in a childlike way, laughing like a giddy little schoolgirl. Erik glared at her and gagged as he tried to voice a lecture that might have scared the pants off her if he had been coherent. But instead it was just a lot of sputtering and more bubbles as he flailed his arms causing her to laugh so hard that no sound came out. Erik waved the knife and gestured frantically as though he were some flightless bird trying to take to the sky. Christine, being the young girl that she was, was thoroughly enjoying herself playing pop the bubble at her husband's expense.

"Christine," he gasped, becoming desperate, "I can't breathe."

Unfortunately, all she heard was blubber-blubber-gargle-warble and then she couldn't help it. She laughed so hard she collapsed to the floor as a stream of bubbles floated from his mouth and then sobered when he vomited it up. She went to him as he puked up foamy white spit and held him as he clutched his stomach. Christine rubbed his back and pulled him up to his feet; he sighed and allowed her to rest his head on her breast. Tears pooled in his eyes as he thought himself a fool for being angry with her when she had more right to rage at him. He was surprised that she hadn't and wanted her to just to put him out of his misery.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "sorry for everything…"

It took her a moment to remember what it was that he was apologizing for after all she would be annoyed if she had swallowed a bar of soap. There was no reason for him to apologize and then it hit her. They were going to America because someone was after her husband and god only knew what they would do if they got him in their grip. The thought made her want to cry, living without him was making her feel ill and she didn't want to even think about it. He cried softly, it was that kind of crying that she had heard that terrible night when she had took off his mask, the kind of wretched tears that were more animal than human. She slowly got up and went to Erik who was hiding his face from her and she very unceremoniously plopped herself on his lap. He looked at her and she touched his face.

"It might be fun living in America." She said.

Erik kissed her with everything he had; sending a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god had made her not be angry with him. She kissed him, her warm arms embraced his body and then he relaxed. He inhaled the smell of coca and vanilla in her hair, drinking in the beauty of his wife as she snuggled into his arms where he brushed her head with his lips and rubbed her sore temple. Erik was back to normal at the very least and she curled up in his arms. He was so warm and comfortable that Christine almost fell asleep there but had a good feeling that it was better if she was awake at the moment.

He wrapped his arms around her and settled her more comfortably in his lap; she knew that these were the arms she had been meant to curl up in. This was the face she was meant to look at every day. Erik nuzzled her head; she didn't bother to readjust her curls as she usually did. Even though her husband deserved to see her at her best she couldn't possibly be perfect all the time. If he couldn't handle her with her hair slightly mussed then really he was ridiculous. But he put his arms all the way around her and held her close to him.

She touched his neck and kissed him where her hands were, Erik dipped his malformed head over hers protectively and she snuggled into his chest. Raoul was nothing like this, he was warm and strong yes but when he held it was one of those things where yes he cared but it was more for him. He kept up his appearance by playing a knight in shining armor and as long as she played the part of his wilting damsel she was fine. Not necessarily a bad thing but that was just all she was to him, a wilting girl that he had to shelter and take care of her all the time.

He made her always be the one to be coddled and sometimes would she want to be the adult and take care of herself or even her husband. Heaven knew what would happen if she had children with Raoul would he not let her be a mother to them for fear she may injure herself? Erik however put everything he had into keeping her safe, despite his less than perfect physical appearance he was the dark prince charming that no woman would admit to wanting but always did. True, he did not like being tended to and believed much like any man would that it was his duty to tend the needs of his wife.

This was, after all the role of the gentleman in society, the man provides and tends his family, the wife obeyed to the point of being almost slaves. But Erik was different; he wanted to take care of her and cared little if at all for himself. He did not care for himself but still he did not begrudge her the duty of tending him if he required it, or help in the act of growing up. He was also content to let her pamper him on occasion, but had just the right amount of overprotectiveness to keep her safe and warm at night and to keep all the nightmares away. Her husband was too quiet; it was disconcerting for a man who was so eloquent and loquacious to be silent as he gazed down at her lips.

Christine leaned up to kiss him and he received her gesture totally, it was warm and gentle and tasted like optimism. It was sweet and she felt the idea of America would be just wonderful, true she would miss Meg and Madame but she could always make new friends and even more so when no one knew her father. No one pitied her and no one knew Erik's dark history, but then she noticed the one major flaw in Erik's plan. In this new land she would need to learn everything, the food, the culture and most of all the language. It would not do to be bumbling and babbling like a goony fool.

"Erik, I don't speak English!" she said panicked.

Erik smiled at her saying, "I do love I will soon teach you."

She smiled at him, "as long as you don't eat anymore soap dear."

He gave her a dirty look and wiped the cheeky grin off her lips with a big wet kiss.


	13. Chapter 12 A promise kept part 1

Chapter 12

A promise kept part 1

Erik undressed himself from his sopping clothes and hung them over the edge of the large tub to dry. The storm had quieted but the boat still rocked a little and she wrung out the clothes into the tub before tossing his sick-bucket out the window, rinsing it in the bathwater. He groaned as he leaned over the chamber pot to vomit but noting came out except a spasm of gagging that racked his frame. He groaned in pain and gagged one last time, before clutching feebly at his pounding temple. Christine went to him, more worried for his stomach than his nudity. When he lifted his face, he looked drained and sleepy, so Christine gathered the towels and laid his wet body on the bed.

She grabbed many thick towels from the W.C. and draped them over the bed as she blotted water from his face and eyes. Christine went and made him some hot tea with lemon like he enjoyed and propped him up on her arm. Her eyes were gentle as she took patiently took care of him, every move was gentle. She alternately stroked his hair and held the hot cup to his lips so that he sipped it slowly and didn't choke. She waited for him to finish it and let the warmth ease him, his body sank down all the way to the pillow and she lifted the covers over him.

Erik watched her as she administered to him, the greying sunlight shimmering in her strawberry blonde curls, her cool hand stroking his neck. He felt like a monkey with the dark fuzz of his facial hair leaving a shadow on his chin and throat. It was also horribly itchy and he reached up to scratch at himself, being too humble to ask her to help him shave. That was too much to ask, and he would be too embarrassed to ask her to the first place. Christine moved his hand down and shook her head, going over to the station where there was a razor and other shaving supplies. He shied away from her; not willing to let her near the good half of his face as much as he loved her it was dangerous.

"You need a shave love," she said as she approached him.

"Uh, I am not sure that's a good idea dear…"

"Why?" she asked.

"Well… it's just that those things are very sharp and women don't usually shave their faces and…"

She laughed, "Erik I know what I'm doing."

"Oh?"

"Yes," She looked sad, "I shaved Daddy Daaë when he was ill and couldn't do it…before he died now hold still."

Christine set the things down and boiled some water as she heated the razor, to which Erik grabbed her wrist. She took her other hand, grateful that he was groggy and his fingers were easy to pry away. Erik reached up and wiped a stray tear from her eye, feeling like a bastard for bringing the pain back for her. His wife pushed him back on the bed telling him to hold still for her. He did as she painted the shaving cream over his facial hair, smiling as the warm foam caressed his throat and chin. It felt good to have the fuzz removed from his face, and he felt his eyes close, feeling sleep take over him as she soothed him

She sat down on the bed and ran the towel over his damp skin, careful to get inside the lines of his scars so that they didn't get infected. Christine gently dried him, making sure he was no longer feeling ill before she jostled him. Erik was fine with this, finding he enjoyed a little tenderness now and again. He was also willing to do whatever she wished though, if she wanted him to brush her hair he was right there counting to one-hundred as if she were some princess from a fairytale. Erik brushed her with his comb first and then ran his fingers through her hair to insure its silkiness. But for now he just wanted to sleep and so he closed his eyes and pulled her down on the bed with him.

She snuggled closer, her body relaxing as she began to sing to him, her voice half drowsy with sleep. Erik felt a smile touch the corners of his mouth as he remembered the tune of the lullaby he had sung to her for many nights as his troubled child protégée. It was strange to have her sing for him not as his student but as a woman who loved him, meaning to comfort and love him into a peaceful sleep. It was usually the other way around no one ever cared enough to make sure he was comfortable, no one bothered to give a damn. Still it was nice to know that she cared enough to sing to him when he was sick. Erik wrapped his arms around Christine and began to hum along with her song.

Usually, he would sing her little love songs as he did and sometimes she would fall asleep on his knees with a peaceful smile on her lips and pleasant dreams in her mind. Dreams filled with new futures, a world where no one knew them and their life could be anything they wished. She saw herself holding a baby boy with her husband's coffee hair and raindrop eyes. The thought of being pregnant was something that excited her, and she saw the perfect boy in her mind, perhaps he might be blonde and forget me not eyed like her. They would be musical of course and as brilliant as their father and strong like him too.

The dreams were the reason that she looked forward to sleep so much, and when she sometimes dozed off during the day Erik would hold her close to him. He would never wake her; he would lift her to his arms and sit on the bed, still singing to her unless he happened to doze off. Then they would lay there letting the sun from the window warm them and ignoring the cabin-service maid as she came in to bring them their afternoon meal. Christine would smile, being the light sleeper that she was. Erik would wrap his arms around her to insure she was very warm and could go back to sleep. That almost always worked, his warmth coupled with the sound of his deep, steady breathing was as soothing as any lullaby.

But she was even more soothed as she realized how beautiful their love looked to this old woman. She heard the old lady chuckle gently and call them 'precious younglings' before she tucked them in even though it wasn't her job. Sometimes she would hear the old woman say something like, 'ah young love' and even cry a little for a husband or lover who had long passed. She was awake then but she pretended not to be so she could remain in her husband's arms. It was a like some beautiful dream world that she was stuck in and never wanted to leave.

She had begun to wonder just how long she would be on this boat, but did not want to ask her husband because he might think she did not enjoy being alone with him. It was just that being the country girl that she was; she hated being confined to small places for long periods of time. Christine liked the openness of land and the wide blue skies stretching on forever. Even in the opera house she hated the cramped dormitories of the ballet with all the other girls. Particularly at night when it was noisy with the other girls fornicating with the hired help. It was a practice that Madame forbids and was severely punished if they were caught.

Those men were not the kind that one brought home to one's father in hopes of a happy ever after, no these men were those fathers warned their little girls of. Men who would abuse a woman's virginity and then leave her with either the broken heart or the lovechild that came along with it or both. Frankly Christine did not truly understand the appeal of these old, greasy stagehands that reeked of cheap whisky and hand-rolled cigarettes. True, she now a woman, enjoyed sex and the physical pleasure that came along with it but it was not just the action that bought the ecstasy.

It was also the man and the men the ballerina's snuck around with were just disgusting. Stinky and bumbling like fools, who had to be helped inside the center of the drunken girls who had to have been at their wine for a long time to feel any physical attraction to these men in the first place. The girl remembered hiding beneath her covers as she tried to block out the moans and grunts of oversexed young girls and the men. She also remembered the way the ballet rats used to tease her about her virginity and how she was an 'innocent Swedish pup' famous for the prude nature of her origins. Christine vividly remembered being heckled her that she might as well become a sister of the faith because no mortal man would be good enough for her.

Christine would snap back that she was not a prude but waiting for a husband who she loved rather than breaking the rules with these pigs. They had then called her a Christine looked at Erik, running her hands over her breasts as he laying, snoozing, naked on the fluffy bed. The way his chest rippled with the wiry corded muscles of his chest and powerful arms. He was anything but disgusting, he was a man whose voice was rough and gentle and whose movements were powerful. He knew how to please a woman and how to make her want to please him as well.

Her mother had told her when she was young that sex was a private and sacred matter between two people in love. That intercourse was meant for those who were married to make a baby and was a quiet affair not meant to be advertised to the world. These girls did not seem to understand that and Christine remembered failing at getting many a good night's rest with this going on and even worse the snoring of lushes after drinking too much rum or an excess of wine. She knew she snored too, but the most annoying part was that when she snored her roommates would wake her and tell her to be silent so they could rest.

Christine would do her best and would succeed because their snoring was so loud that she never was able to fall back to sleep. She remembered lying awake until the early morning hours holding her pillow over her head to attempt to muffle the offensive noise. It never worked of course and she would only fall asleep when she was so completely exhausted that she passed out and snored twice as loud as was the effect of extreme fatigue. Christine had often been late to practice because she had fallen asleep and not waking when her roommates jostled her.

Sometimes she would miss practice entirely and be punished with extra chores or no supper and she would sneak a crust of bread and that would be her only bite for the day. When she would miss practice repeatedly, she would get a sound lashing with Madame Giry's walking stick. Christine touched her shoulders where she felt the rough thin line of a scar on her shoulders. Madame had certainly not skimped on the punishment that was for certain. The lashes were the worst part of it, her back was sore for days and then she would cry.

She would cry because it was better to do so when Madame was lashing you for she would only stop when the tears came. The other girls never cried, they thought it was weak if you did so and their punishments were a lot worse, Christine had remembered seeing welts the size of grapes on their backs and the backs of their legs. So rather than have bumps and pain, she would give in and then be heckled by her bunkers that she was a little baby and not woman enough to take her punishment. At one point she had gotten tired of it and snuck out of her room wandering the halls until she made her way down to the chapel and lit her candles. She remembered many nights of curling up by her father's picture and falling asleep in the peaceful silence by her daddy's picture.

Of course it was a reprehensible action and she had been thoroughly lectured by Madame for wandering off but that did not stop her. The allure of a good night's sleep by daddy's picture was too much temptation for her to resist. But that was not her biggest problem, the biggest one was that she was curious and wanted to see the opera with no one telling her where she could and could not go. Christine had been known for wandering the halls well after curfew and being in frequent trouble for this minor infraction. A smile crept across her face as she remembered the first time she had heard Erik down in the auditorium on the stage. She had been a little girl borrowing the diva's identity as she dreamed and wished as his that she could be there with the crowds adoring her. One day she had been singing softly as she played court to her imaginary audience when her voice ran out a little too loud when she had heard a voice…

**Flashback:**

Her song was a sad one of love long lost and broken hearts, still seeing the beauty of the world. A couple breaking up as one replayed the practiced ritual of breaking each other's hearts and how she, even in the throes of losing her love still wished for one last beautiful day with him. She sang with all the emotion she felt the song entailed the dreaming lover wishing not for the traditional ending she had experienced. 

The aria had been one of mama's favorites and as she sang it she imagined her mother smiling at her. She sang the song softly to the visual of her mother as she applauded and smiled at her. Mama waved at her and tossed her a rose as she placed her hand over Papa's and gave him a deep and warm kiss. Christine bowed to them, blowing them a kiss which they pretended to catch and then retuned in kind. Then, quick as a flash they vanished and the lights of the stage went out, leaving her in the cold dark auditorium with no one around her but the chairs and walls. It was then that she heard his voice, a lovely male voice as deep and rich as honey being heated on an intimate campfire.

"Child, your voice is as pure as an angel." He said.

Christine looked up, turning her head from side to side frantically looking for the man who was speaking to her. There was no on there, but she was no fool and she knew that no man had a voice like that and was not real because her father had promised her an angel and so an angel she would get. Unless the angel was her papa and that was even better. A smile broke out on her face and her blue eyes lit up, she turned toward the source of the voice and looked peering for the source of the voice.

"Who are you?" she asked, and the voice laughed in "Papa taught me never to talk to strangers."

The voice laughed, "A wise decision my dear…but surely I am no stranger…"

"You aren't?" she asked, puzzled.

"No," he said.

Her eyes lit up, "Daddy?"

The voice was sad then as he sighed "No," he said, "I am not daddy, I am your angel."  
>"Angel?" the child asked.<p>

"Yes," he said, "The angel of music is here to make u better, now we shall begin your lessons my dear…"

"But Madame…"

"Never mind… you are no dancer. "

"All right Angel…"

He had spoken to Madame Giry the following morning, and the lashings and rehearsals had stopped. She was allowed to sleep in the chapel if she liked and her curfew had been stripped. She spent nine wonderful years that way and then the time came when she longed for real affections and a love story like mama had with Daddy. One night she had been sad as it was the Lover's holiday yet she had no sweetheart to call her own whereas girls younger than her were flitting and flirting with men. It was on this day that her angel had seen the sadness in her and she had been given the gift of a lifetime but did not know it yet.

"Child…what's the matter?"

Christine groaned, it was a relief to hear from her childhood guardian at the very least, and she always felt better afterwards. Still, she did not know how to tell him when most of the time he was so focused on music that little else mattered to him. Not that Christine blamed him, after all the purpose of his existence was to bring her music not to sort out her love life. But now she really just wanted a friend to complain to that did not call her a Swedish Pup or Prude. She shrugged and thought it best to give it a try because if he couldn't understand then it was really hopeless.

"I'm lonely maestro…"

"Lonely," he echoed in a tone that personified confusion, "Why would you be lonely, when you have everything, your music, your own angel why should you be lonely?"

"It's just…" she hesitated.

"It's just what?" he repeated.

"I want a friend." She said.

Then he seemed to chuckle, "you _have _friends, many of them my little social butterfly."

"No, not those, a different kind of friend… a gentleman-friend," she blushed

Silence greeted her but it was not the frustrated silence that he got when she would fall asleep in the middle of a lesson. Nor was it the angry silence he acquired when she allowed her curiosity to get the better of her. That was obviously his least favorite time of the night when she bombarded him with her endless barrage of questions about his whereabouts and what heaven was like and so on and so forth. It was a thoughtful quiet, the kind papa used to get when he was deciding which story he would tell her that evening.

At last he said, "Why would you want that?" and then in a voice drenched with sorrow he asked, "Am I a bad friend for you?"

Her response was quick, "**No**!" then softer, "No, but you are not of this earth and I cannot be in love with a man who is not on earth."

Again there was silence and then, "Would you love me if I were?" then he clarified, "A mortal gentleman-friend?"

Christine answered without hesitation, "Yes of course."

"Even if I were ugly, and my face were distorted?"

She laughed, "Yes, but why would an angel be ugly?"

His voice turned grave, "When an angel gives up his post in heaven he must pay the price."

"Price?"

"Indeed, the last Angel that left heaven was…" he stopped, "Your father…he saw how beautiful you were and longed to be a mortal father to you so the Lord had to replace him and I was picked."

"Oh?"

"Yes, his price was a young death…" he sounded sad, "I do not know what I would have to give up having a chance to be your gentleman-friend."

Christine had been sad by this, "I can't ask you to give something up for me…"

"Oh no I would do it," he said and she smiled.

"You would?"

"Yes," he said instantly, "But only if you would love me."

"Oh I would!"

Christine smiled and stifled a yawn, to which he laughed gently. "Sleep child, I will see to it soon you have your 'gentleman friend.'

**End flashback**

s.


	14. Chapter 13 A Promise kept Part 2

**Chapter 13**

A Promise kept Part 2

**Erik's POV**

I watched my angel as she slept in my arms, touching her neck to see if she was warm enough and indeed she was. Her skin was soft and as warm as fresh buttered toast, and her snores were like the purring of a beautiful Siamese cat. I smiled and ran a hand through her curls, in response she snored wearily, completely knocked out in my embrace. I kissed her forehead and stared at the ceiling. If I closed my eyes I could just see the night when I revealed myself to her. What a night it was, she had been standing there in the wedding dress of Elyssa the Empress from Hannibal and looked stunning.

**Flashback **

There was no doubt in my mind that she had been right for the role, despite the sobbing and fainting in the arms of her accompaniment. The audience smiled, in a kind of nostalgic trance or at least the older ones did. The younger ones had that faraway look as though they were lost in the fantasy of the opera. My pride of course was filled by seeing the famed Jeannette le Blanc, the oldest opera singer to alumni here. There was a shine and glimmer in her old eyes, as she obviously relived the glory days of her old career.

Her approval meant the most to me because she had at one time been called the greatest voice in Paris when she was twice her age. She knew that she was not only beautiful but innocent and young at the same time. I hoped for Christine's sake that she got to meet the woman. She had been Christine's idol since she had arrived here. To make it even better Jeanette was the first to stand in an ovation giving her slow but steady claps. They were purposeful and rising in volume till others joined in calling, 'Brava!' Christine saw Jeanette and then things went horribly wrong…

I had known that her voice was ready for this, it had been so for months, hell it had been beyond ready. But apart from her voice was her inexperience on the stage. I had forgotten that she was only a young ingénue and her spirit was not ready for the make-or-break memento of a real opera. The shock of such a welcoming and prideful reception must have been enough to cause her to swoon. As she was carried off I noticed she looked like the beautiful Marguerite incarnate fainting at the realization of her own beauty…

I was apparently not the only one to notice as that blasted boy had come in to see her. I watched as he arrived with armfuls of flowers that would have made a bride stumble if she used them as a bouquet. He had prattled on some nauseating chatter about their childhood and her Papa as if he could know anything on the subject. True he was her childhood playmate but that was nine years ago and memories of the human race faded over time. How dare he act like he knew her when I, her angel of music, knew her to the depths of her very soul?

The boy knew little of her; in fact he was all about him, the selfish fool! Instead of congratulating her on a performance well done he was reminding her of how he saved her scarf from the ocean years ago. Good lord the way he went on one would think he threw himself to his death for that little piece of fabric. I found myself snickering, something I seldom, no _never_ do as he went on and on about being only fourteen and soaked to the skin. He could be an actor; I would not deny him that, the drama on his face was absolutely comical.

"Christine Daaë, where is your red scarf." He said in that disgustingly solicitous vanilla voice.

I watched as my Christine removed some of her Jewels, "Monsieur?" she sounded as though she was taken aback.

I watched him through narrowed eyes as that blonde-haired blue eyed dandy was pulling at the ruffles of his puffy white sleeves. He took no notice of her slightly startled tone as he smirked, flexing his arms at his own reflection in the mirror. It was amusing to me to watch him forget she was in the room entirely as he became enraptured with himself. This was so typical of the de Chagny clan, or at least that was what I had gathered from watching his brother, God help us all! I had seen that pigheaded Comte Philippe waltzing around and flashing his platinum all over the place. It was no wonder that his younger brother was just as into himself as the rest of them.

The boy put on a pout, "You can't have lost it," he was sashaying toward her in that overstuffed aristocratic way, "Not after **_all _**the trouble I took, and I was just fourteen and soaked to the skin!"

I gagged and then my heart stopped, she was laughing, _laughing_ and smiling at him. Her blue eyes shining as she said, "Oh it is you!"

He was grinning like a Cheshire cat and puffed out his chest in such a display of pride it appeared he would crow like a rooster at any moment. Dressed all in blue like that he gave me the impression of a peacock. I simply did not understand how people could find this over-dressed, self-absorbed fop attractive! All right granted, he was blonde and handsome and boyish but that ego was more that anyone should have to suffer through. Anyone including myself, especially me! Surely Christine would not fall so easily for the charms of this overgrown child.

The sight of her blushing and swooning over that fop was enough to make me want to vomit. As a matter of fact I did vomit; all over the bloody wall, sour spit and everything else, (mostly an access of celebratory wine) I just couldn't take the sight of her with the boy anymore and so I hid in the shadows and smiled as she refused his invitation to dinner. My smile faded as he refused to take no for an answer and she blushed. He left and I watched her getting ready to go out with him and I felt my blood boiling to a fever pitch. But I could not go to her, not yet she must not see me until the right moment.

She was undressing and I felt my body stirring with the lust of a mortal man as she pulled her gown up revealing one of her shapely legs to the area just before her knee. I gulped feeling tightness in my slacks as she innocently tossed her golden hair in the most sensual way. She lifted her dress a little more, showing now the perfect slope of side to stomach and I winced needing to turn away but being powerless in my maleness to do so. The sight of her like that made my mind race with images that a beautiful virgin should never see.

I began to feel my mouth growing dry and then wet with salivation as she stood in her corset and chemise, a garment so white it was nearly see-through. It traveled up to her legs and guided my eyes straight to the center between her legs. I could see the tightness there of her virginal center, and I found myself suddenly able to see clearly that sweet, tender treasure so forbidden to me, the golden curls there no doubt tangled within one another. I could feel myself growing hot under the collar and a wet spot growing in the crotch of my pants.

She removed her corset and ran her hands under her breast in the most damnably innocent provocative way. It was obviously to loosen them from the tightness of the undergarment. A gesture meant to be purely sexless and more comforting to her but to a man like me it was enough to be driven mad. It was a well-known fact that girls her age experimented with their bodies, feeling themselves to see what their bodies liked. I was no stranger to it either, in fact this same action and watching the ballet rats dress was what got me through those tormenting pubescent years.

I did not see anything wrong with it at the time; it was well known that many of the women were already supplementing their incomes. I had never used them myself mainly because I am not one to go up and proposition a woman who had slept with more than one of the stagehands who were rumored to be riddled with diseases of every kind some of them deadly. There was no harm or shame at looking at women who had no respect for themselves anyway and as for pleasuring myself with the sin of self-pollution? Well, I am going to hell anyway so what did it matter.

But these girls were not Christine and I felt filthy as I saw her standing there completely naked before me as a rosy blush stole over her .What she did next was my undoing, in that innocent way she reached down and touched her crotch and moaned softly. That was it; pictures flooded my mind in torrential downpours Images of her beneath me, naked and writhing beneath me, her naked succulent breasts in my mouth as I nursed her passion. I felt my manhood growing stiff and reached down gripping myself, closing my eyes as my body enjoyed the show.

I hated myself for it, knew that I should burn in hell but what man be he hideous or handsome can resist the urge to watch a woman like her change. Besides this was the closest to actual sex with her. At least that's what I thought at the time, this was how I justified nights of watching her change and that was how I justified it to myself night after night. I watched her as she selected a white gown that showed how well-endowed she was in the chest.

Its white sparkles glistened in the intimate candlelight, looking like stars in a winter sky and accenting the beauty of her blue eyes. I had to stop her from going to the boy, if he saw her in that, he would fall in love for sure and then all would be lost. So I did, I did the only thing I could do, I quelled my lustful thoughts and blew out the candles with a switch I had installed behind the frame. An ingenious little device disguised as one of the tiles of the wall, one push and boom total darkness.

"Christine…" I said making my voice as stern as I could.

She froze and looked around the room, her forget-me-not eyes widened and she turned to the direction of my voice. I knew she was more startled than frightened as I had been in the habit of not sleeping and in a rather out of the ordinary mood. She sighed and looked down at the ground preparing for a scolding no doubt but I did not really know what to say. I had prepared to give her the lecture of a lifetime but when the moment came I did not know what to say. My heart was pounding in my chest as I tried to shake the hurt from me to no avail.

"Maestro…" she said in an apologetic voice, "I have to skip our lesson tonight."

That cut me deeply, the fact that my Christine would wish to spend time with that boy than her angel. After everything I had given her one look from a handsome wealthy man and she had already forgotten her promise to me. I felt myself choking on tears that clogged my throat almost to the point of making speech impossible. She was continuing to dress and I knew that if I was ever to even have a chance to win her love I had to show myself to her right now. So I steadied my breathing, swallowed my pain and spoke, this time copying the boy's arrogance and failing miserably. I loved her too much to be arrogant with her.

"Indeed," I said, "I am here to give you a congratulatory gift."

This perked her interest as I knew it would but she gave me a modest, "You did not have to."

I laughed, "oh but my child you must be rewarded for your efforts, I am here to become your gentleman friend."

She froze her eyes widening, "oh?" she said, "how do you plan to do that…"

"Look at your own face in the mirror I am here." He said.

She turned and I swooped down, shrouded in mist to my knees I knew she was in shock. It had worked, she had fallen in to my trap easily and with my hand reached out for hers I knew I had won. I felt that she took my hand and knew she was going nowhere with that fop tonight. I lead her down to the lake where she began falling asleep on my lap from the stress and the excitement of it all. But she woke when I lead her there to my glowing world of seduction and music. I lifted her to her feet not knowing what to say when the words came out before I could stop them.

_"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation  
>Darkness wakes and stirs imagination<br>Silently the senses abandon their defenses  
>Helpless to resist the notes I write<br>For I compose the music of the night  
>Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor<br>Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender  
>Hearing is believing<br>Music is deceiving  
>Hard as lightning, soft as candle light<br>Dare you trust the music of the night..  
>Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth<br>and the truth isn't what you want to see…"  
><em>

She made no move to join me in song not that I had expected her to, instead I lead her to the curtain and she touched my face. I do not know what happened next but I was holding her with her back pressed to my chest and my hands were on her in the most intimate way that I had been allowed with an unpaid for beauty. I ran my hands up and down her side, smiling as she closed her no-doubt tired eyes and leaned on me for support. I laughed gently, my voice always knocked her right out. But I was not ready to let her fall asleep on me yet and continued the song.

_"In the dark it is easy to pretend...  
>That the truth is what it ought to be...<br>Softly, deftly, music shall caress you  
>Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you<br>Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind  
>In this darkness which you know you cannot fight<br>The darkness of the music of the night  
>Close your eyes start a journey through a strange, new world<br>Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before  
>Close your eyes and let music set you free<br>Only then can you belong to me…"_

She was already mine, I could feel it deep in my heart and I knew even if she left me no other man would satisfy her with his touch the way I was right at this moment. Call me arrogant but there was something about the way she was leaning against me and swooning that told me that I had at least one thing the young man could not. The ability to awaken the woman within this beautiful child, I took her hand in mine and began the final verse, blowing hot air on her neck as I raised her hand to the unmasked side of my cheek.

_"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication  
>Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation<br>Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in  
>To the power of the music that I write<br>The power of the music of the night  
>You alone can make my song take flight<br>Help me make the music of the night…"_

I showed her just what I was feeling; the love the lust, my body was raging for her as I told her everything as I pulled her to a curtain where behind stood a figure of her. In the first wedding gown I had ever made for her and that was simply too much. Christine fainted heavily on me and I swiftly caught her as I noticed that my voice had lulled her to a heavy sleep and I laid her down in my mother's bed where she would be warm and safe. Her snoring filled my chamber and I left her alone going to my organ, hoping to mollify my raging body in the process of composing.

She woke the next morning and things came crashing down in the worse way I could have imagined. Christine came to me as I snored loudly on my piano bench, having pleasant dreams for once with her close by. She reached down in what I thought was a gentle caress but then felt a blast of cold air hit my face. I knew what she had done and I froze, I turned to her my eyes flaming but when it came down to it I couldn't shout at her, I was too crushed that she had betrayed me like this. I looked at her for a moment my rage coming out in a loud scream; I did not know what I was doing. I was seeing red and shot to my feet.

I pulled her to me and forced me took look at me 'Look at me! Look at who I am, at _what_ I am! Now you see me, yes, now you see your angel!"

I tossed Christine backwards and she screamed crawling away from me in fear but any remorse I had was gone. I wanted her to fear me in that moment, wanted her to see just what her normal people had done to me over the years. I got down in front of her eyes blazing and yanked her to me by her pretty hair. I saw her tears but I could not help it, I laughed at her pain until she was clamping her hands over her ears to block out that horrible sound.

This angered me even more and I cruelly pulled her closer still as I continued to rave, "Tear it off, my _love!_Come now 'tis not that difficult just like the other. With your prying hands you should have no trouble!"

She was begging me to stop with her eyes as she frantically shook her head and that made me snap. I released her head and it fell heavily causing her to groan, she tried to crawl away but I grabbed her hands harshly. Christine sobbed as I dragged her to her knees and made her tear at my flesh and it tore so easily that blood dripped form the slightest gouge... I gave a mirthless laugh as I then noticed her crying softly as she stared at the dark-red blood on her fingers and bits of skin snagged in her nails.

"It's not coming off is it Christine? No, indeed the mask is still in place... "I gave another twisted laugh and dropped to my knees and crawled away.

I cried for several moments until I heard her voice, "Forgive me, I did this to you."

Her request stunned me to the point of bitter laughter, I had just beaten her and terrified her and she was blaming herself. Not only was she blaming herself, but she was asking my forgiveness, this was positively hilarious. My laughter came and was silenced by the feel of her arms wrapping around my waist as she cried into my shirt. I could barely hear her saying, I am sorry again and then I couldn't help it. I cried too, I hugged her back and I cried into her hair seeing a purple spot on her cheek where I had knocked her backwards.

"No," I said, "I'm sorry…I hurt you."

She shook her head and framed my face, kissing the bleeding spots, and then whispered, "Your price was this…"

I blinked and then remembered that my young pupil still believed that I was an angel come down to be her mortal gentleman friend. I nodded and looked sad, my eyes cast down as I got up, wishing that I had told her the truth to begin with. Still I took my mask up and placed it back on my face suddenly feeling exhausted. I must have looked entirely pathetic because Christine went to me and wrapped her arms around me in an innocent hug meant to comfort me, and I continued the lie without thinking.

You asked me for a gift from heaven, but as _I_once told _you_**– for a gift from heaven there can be hell to pay."**

I pulled away and went to the lake, wetting my handkerchief and washing my face and then went to my room without a word. I did not want her to see me weep, I already felt like less than a man and the last thing he needed was her to think any less of me. But when I thought she was out of earshot I cried, and she came in as silent as the grave. Christine removed my hands from my face and hugged me around my torso.

I hugged her back and cried for a long time, "You promised you'd love me…" I sobbed.

"I promise to love you in some way forever…" she responded and kissed me on the forehead.

End flashback

I kissed her head, the memory choking me in a way I had not been in the time she had been with me. Christine sighed gently although she said nothing as she held me for a long time, and let me finish crying till I lay down on the floor, her body heat keeping me warm. Just like she was now, sleeping beside me as my wife, She had promised she would love me and that was a promise she had always kept.


	15. Chapter 14 Love is a raging storm

Chapter 14

**Love is a raging storm**

The boat pitched and tossed roughly as a storm raged on the choppy waters, it was a dreadful night to wake to that was for certain. The pitching and tossing of the boat was dreadful and though she was a heavy, heavy sleeper it woke her. She was tossed out of the bed and face-planted on the wooden floor painfully. She hit the floor with a resounding smack and Christine groaned and stumbled to her feet, still mostly wrapped in her sleep and oddly exhausted all the time now. She wanted nothing more than to fall back to sleep and fought to keep her heavy eyes open.

She had no idea why she felt so sick lately, why her back ached and her stomach felt like it was flipping. Her stomach churned as she got up, a dizzy spell taking her over her and she rubbed her temple. Her head was pounding and the room was spinning and she teetered on her feet. Erik was nowhere to be found or maybe it was the darkness of the cabin, but she sighed when she heard the whistle of the kettle and knew Erik was making his evening coffee and blinked when another shadow came in the room.

Christine turned her head and muttered sleepily to herself as she was woken fully to the sound of Erik muttering as he spilled his coffee on his lap. She went to the circular window and squeaked with fright as a bolt of white lightning hit the sky and plummeted to the black waters. She looked at Erik, shaking his head and muttering at the stain on his usually immaculate white shirt. Christine shook her head and wet a white cloth, thinking that if she helped her husband she would distract herself.

Another thunderclap echoed and this time a bolt of lightning cruelly illuminating the room and landing on the gruesomeness that was the deformity. Normally it didn't bother her; after all she had sex with the man more than once. Spent countless hours singing with him and had even married the man so his face was not an issue. But the enormity of it hit her and she threw up, all over herself careful to clutch her belly so it looked like her stomach was upset so she didn't hurt him, she knew how sensitive he was about her reactions to him.

Erik looked up and saw how pale she was, her hand was shaking as she mopped at the brown stain only making it worse. He grabbed at her hand stopping her before he looked at her face and raised his other hand to stroke her cheek. He gave her a paternal smile and wrapped his arms around her pulling her into his lap where she laid her head over his heart, listening to the thump-thump of his heart; Erik ran his fingers through her hair rocking her back and forth gently. She had not feeling well lately and thunderstorms didn't help.

Christine snuggled him wanting the safety of her husband's arms at that moment. It seemed strange that such a dangerous man who had mercilessly killed so many could make her feel so comfortable in his arms. She leaned over the place in his chest where his heartbeat thudded steadily beneath her cheek. The sound was calming, a quiet _thud-boom _that steadied her fears and unsettled mind and for a moment she forgot all about her troubles and relaxed but not enough to make her fall asleep. He ran circles over her back and said nothing until she was breathing gently.

He was so gentle; it was odd that he had been so cruel once to kill innocent men in cold blood. She hadn't thought of it much since the wedding, no since before that since their first night together. Christine shook her head as she realized she had been so damn caught up in the thrill of being in love with him that she had not thought of what being committed to the man might mean for her future. She had been enraptured with the thrill of commanding the sexual needs of such a powerful man that she hadn't realized that he was a wanted murderer and how she could never see her mama or Meg or Madame again.

Poor mama Valerious had not gotten to attend the wedding of the only child she had ever raised or had. She remembered the day her father had married the sweet blind woman when she had been four. Christine had wept over dear mother who was lost to her, when Grandfather had lifted her into his strong arms and sang to her. Professor Valerious was an old man of sixty-two

It made her weep and so Erik removed one arm from around her as he reached under him and pulled out a thick leather bound book. It had some symbols on it that she recognized as letters but could not believe he could read at a time like this. But that was Erik, a strange man, brilliant in a way any philosopher would only dream of and stranger than any man she had ever seen. She felt sick again and made the mistake of looking at her husband when he spoke to her.

"Come Christine." He said, "It's time you began learning English." His voice was belaying arguments.

"All right," she said wearily.

He took out the book, "Repeat after me." He said, "Say hello my name is Christine Mansart pleasure to meet you."

"Bonjour mon nom est Christine Mansart plaisir de vous rencontre…"

"Well yes," Erik said slowly, "but now in English my dear."

Christine's brow furrowed and she sighed thinking hard, finally she said, "Hi."

"Good enough…" he said, giving her an encouraging smile.

The boat tossed and she threw up on him again but this time the worst thing that could possibly happen did. She had looked at him and thrown up and now the pain was in his eyes, then he released her. Christine opened her mouth to apologize but didn't have the opportunity as he raised a hand and knocked her backwards in a gesture showing not abuse but self-hatred. She backed away and the room went as silent as the eye of a raging storm.

Erik's harsh breathing was the only sound to be heard as his icy hand's gripped her and yanked her forwards. She had a sinking feeling in her heart as they moved on and on into his madness, she did not struggle that only made it worse. Her eyes stole a glance over her shoulder at the fading light of a lightning flash, wicked and white as a sword. The sound of the crew shouting to tie down the anchors was growing fainter by the moment and the mists of the windows surrounding the cabin shrouding them were thick. It swallowed him hole as he pulled them forward to that never-ending darkness that she feared so much and threw her onto the darkest corner of the bed. But then as the dim glow of his candles came into view she knew what was to come was far worse.

She saw none of the architectural beauty of whence she had first explored this room in the thrall of wedded bliss. Rather she saw it for what it really was, her husband's rage and the fear he still struck inside her fragile heart. The young girl saw this path laid nakedly before her, a stairway down to his madness where music swirled in a twisted waltz of agony. It was a torture no amount of love could heal and she had unwillingly aggravated the situation.

He would never leave the dungeons of his black despair, it did not matter how far away from Paris they went. Erik would always be trapped in the prison of his mind as long as he lived. True love or no, this man was one doomed to be abandoned by the world and only time would tell if her love would be enough to keep him happy. The only problem was he freaked over the tiniest things like her vomiting and now they were back where they had begun that fateful night.

Thus was the torment of her husband Her eyes searched for a way out but she saw none so she let him pull her head up to gaze at his repulsive face. She had no idea what would become of her when she was alone with him in that dark. Her head began to spin as the dark spiraled around her and as Erik tugged her forward relentlessly in his anger, she felt light-headed as though she were falling into a never-ending tunnel.

They said nothing as he forced her further down till she stood facing his gruesome features with a look of pure apology. It had no effect on him this time, his silver eyes were as hard as pebbles and she knew in that moment the full impact of what she had done. No pleas for mercy would help her this time and no amount of appealing to his love would ease the consequences. His grip tightened on her wrist crushingly and she winced pulling away. He turned to her and then as threw her to her knees before him he fell also his hands gripping his face in intelligible agony.

"Why!" he grated.

Christine jumped out of her skin when he spoke, the tone of his voice unfamiliar to her. It held none of his suaveness or that genteel tenor she had become used too. It was raw and full of despair as, a horrible grating sound that hurt her ears. He stood before her, trembling and then with a wretched cry he dropped to his knees. Christine winced a little as her tutor dissolved into a man more pitiful than anything she had ever seen. Was this what real love was? Thus was a broken heart at it worse, the look in his silver eyes was one of absolute agony

She sighed and crawled toward him, extending her hand to touch his shaking shoulder and once again he caught her hand. He rose to his feet, a full 6'2 and forced himself to look into her tearful eyes without expression. He hated those tears but tonight he felt she deserved them, but then she reached up and placed her cool fingers on his neglected face and ran the caress down his cheek. Christine touched him longer than he wanted, her pale fingers fitting into the holes of his skin and sticking to their pads as she tried to pry them free.

She winced as he cried out when his paper thin skin tore when she moved her hand. His poor skin came away and like the fabric of a pauper's curtain. It was apparently incredibly painful and he let out a scream worse than a man who was being dragged off to the firing squad. Christine winced with apology knowing that even though it hurt him she had to unstick her hand from his head and the best way to do this was to make it quick

Erik groaned and stared the smeared blood on her fingers, almost like a sinewy black panther attempting to heal a wound with a pitiful, penetrating look. Christine winced as she looked into his eyes and turned away shaking, could this be the same man who had not too long struck fear into her heart simply by uttering the word 'no'? It was shocking to think so. This raging raving lunatic was not her husband, this was not her Erik. This was the Phantom, that rampaging madman ready to wreak his unholy revenge on those who got in the way of his ultimate goal.

This was not the man she had wept over in the cavern and the very thought of losing him was enough to drive her to suicide. The man that had waited for her even when she was to marry someone else, the man willing to wait for her till he died if he must but it wasn't anyone else for him. Not even if he died alone. No this was the man who had threatened to make her his by force if he must, a dangerous man who had no name and was wanted in Paris for slaughtering three victims and that was just the ones he had been suspected of. The ones the Police knew about.

Her Husband was a criminal and no matter how hard he tried to repress him the Phantom would never leave. The man she feared would never ever leave her, her black knight was a necromancer both beautiful and terrifying at once. His anger was lethal but his love was eternal and it was that love, she realized that kept her going. It was the man beneath this anger that pulled her back to him that night when she had left her safe and secure life behind.

Christine felt this overpowering urge to back away from him but he grabbed her by the hair and slammed his mouth over hers. In that instant he was her Erik again, the man that had awakened her passion and given her everything she ever dreamed of. Christine could feel him tearing and she placed her hands on his shoulders. It was instant, the fire between them blazing. She rose with him knowing she should push him away but being powerless to do so. Her heart and body would not listen to her mind and so she did the only thing she could. Christine responded to her husband, her arms wrapping around his neck.

He reached up and shrouded her fingertips in his black glove taking the smears of crimson into the shadows of his clothes. Christine met his eyes again but this time there was no anger only torture. Tortured love as though he were ready to tear out his heart and offer the broken pieces to her if only she would try to put it back. Christine knew that look on him too well, it was the look she had seen the night she had broken his heart.

It was that same look of weary resignation he had in his cavern when he had let her go with Raoul. That defeated, nothing matters anymore look that had broken her heart. He pulled away and went to the stool where his mask was and lifted it. She watched as he stared grimly at it, eyes slits as he peered down at its perfect surface. Erik ran his graceful hand over it and placed it back on his face before he met her eyes. His like raindrops arched in the shape of tears as he gazed with sadness at the beauty who had sworn to love and comfort him.

"Do you hate me?" he asked at last.

"No my love of course not…" she said.

Erik cried and felt a sudden urge to kiss her and so he did just that. He kissed her with everything in his heart, and when he grabbed onto her that was it. She groaned, into his mouth and allowed him to push her against the wall and kiss her so hard that she rocked backward. The flame between them flared and she leaned into his touch, wrapping her legs around his waist just before she pulled out of his arms and paled in a sickly way.

He released her but stared at her all the same till she got up and ran to the chamber pot where she became violently sick. Erik's brow furrowed and then it dawned on him that it wasn't his appearance making his beloved ill but the pitching and tossing of this blasted vessel. Erik went to her and held back her hair while she emptied herself out and then lifted her into a cradle position. Christine knew she should order him to put her down after such a disastrous altercation but all she really wanted was to be held. Erik leaned down and kissed her lips, uncaring of the sick taste in her mouth and she pushed gently on his chest.

"What are you doing," she moaned, thinking the man had truly lost his mind.

"The best cure for seasickness is a distraction and the best distraction is to make love." He said and dipped her head back to kiss her.

Christine knew she should deny him that she was sick and wanted nothing more than to crawl back into her bed and sleep. But she was just so weak when it came to her husband that he could kill her and she would still derive some sick pleasure from it. He kissed her deeply and she wound herself around his waist and settled just over his power where he took her to the bed. They deepened the kiss and relaxed into the sheets. He placed one hand on her breast and then slowly lowered his mouth to her nipple. She arched her back as he nursed there sucking and nipping there like a nursing infant; she moaned and gripped his neck.

She struggled up and pulled her shirt off, her bare breasts pressing against his chest, kissing as she tore his shirt open caught in frenzy. Erik untied his trousers and rode her dress up, both frantic with need to be loved and prove their love for one another. They were so hurried they didn't even undress completely, just enough to couple. He braced her against him and they moved, her sitting on his lap, both panting and crying till they were spent to the point of exhaustion, Erik finished as a bolt of lightning flashed across his face and she screamed. He released and collapsed still inside her, the storm raging as intensely as their passion and he lay down on her chest.

They slept then, and as they drifted off the water calmed, her eyes closing as he sighed into her chest. Their love was calm now as calm as the now steady raging storm.


	16. Chapter 15 Family News

\

**Chapter 15**

** Family News**

_Erik's POV_

My poor Christine was so ill, constantly throwing up, not being able to stomach food and in terrible back pain. She was on bed rest now, by order of me and spent most of her time fast asleep or listening to me as I played the violin. Often times she was drugged on pain medication and just laid there with glazed eyes until she had to vomit. Then she would puke all over herself being too loopy to go to the chamber pot and just lie there moaning till I carried her to the tub and washed her like a small child. When I did this she would hold onto me and weep because I was so tired that sometimes I snapped at her that she had better eat or force-feed her myself.

It hurt me to do so because she was so miserable and nauseous, but there was nothing I could do about it. Her moans were pitiful and twice a day I would pour tonics down her throat that tasted and smelled awful. She would cough and sputter harshly but the bitterer the medicine the quicker the cure I suppose. Now if only I could make her understand that, she fought me every time I tried to give her the medicine she tried to refuse even though her back was killing her and she was sicker than a dog. I did not blame her, the stuff tasted horrible and looked like vomit, _green _vomit at that.

Christine would moan and shake her head but she had to eat and drink if she was to live… and she had to take her medicine because it was all I had. She was so weak that I had to hold her up and spoon feed her like a helpless infant. I did this faithfully every hour or so with a glass of water that she would suck at feebly. My poor angel tried to drink it neatly, always a lady even when she was desperately ill. But she struggled to keep the water in her mouth and I would wipe the dribble from her chin with my handkerchief. Sometimes she would cough and spit the water out all over the towel I placed on her chest.

I mop the dribble from her chin over and over while she laid there groggily her eyes listless and glazed. I sang to her and rocked her back and forth in a cradle made of my arms until she was snoring. Then I would take a pale of warm water and soap and wash her hair soothingly before I brushed it out while she slept. Christine turned over in my lap and lay on my knee, snuggling it wanting to be comforted in her current state and I didn't blame her. So I would hold her till she woke and begged me for water for her burning throat.

I would oblige her and she would drink like she was dying of thirst, sloppily and noisy till the cup was drained to the last. Christine collapsed on the bed, beautiful and innocent as a cherub child, eyes babyish and wide with a fear that was almost palpable. The kind of childish fear a toddler might have of a storm. Her illness was sapping the strength of her body and I wrapped my arms around her and held her for a long moment. I got up and made a pot full of English tea, pouring her a glass of it and dropping two cubes of sugar into the steaming liquid.

I had no milk; there was none on the ship as there was no way to keep it fresh and spoiled milk would only serve to make her worse. But still it was sure to cheer her up so I did the best I could to make her comfortable. I bought it to her but she had fallen asleep and so I drank the tea myself, finding it soothing on my aching body. I could see why she liked this brew; it was gentle and soothing just like her. The warmth in my belly was calming enough to make me feel the sleepiness that I had pushed away from the stress. My hand put the cup down and I slid down in my seat and closed my tired eyes. I was exhausted, I couldn't deny my body hurt and I wanted to sleep but I would not.

Not until she was well and it would be some time before that was. Her sickness was beyond terrible and I cried at night when my eyes burned from insomnia but she needed me right now. I had known when she started complaining of pain and dizziness that this was far worse than seasickness. So I made her go to bed despite her assurance that she was perfectly all right and I needn't worry. I knew she was being strong and trying to hide her weakness from me so I would not be frightened. But it did not work; I knew she was terribly ill

Her eyes snapped open and she paled, looking at me and I knew she was about to vomit. I ran and grabbed the chamber pot before holding her hair back and she gagged, but nothing came up. She just wretched for a good fifteen minutes before she reached for the empty water glass and I refilled it, wishing I had brandy or something that would soothe her. But all I had was hot water and tea; she never kept tea down lately so I went with the water. It was apparently more than she could take because she groaned and doubled over clutching her stomach as though she were in agony.

She threw the water back up of course and I cleaned her again before laying her down to rest again. Christine would sometime hold my arm and look at me with tearing glassy eyes asking me to hold her. I would slide into bed with her and hold her limp body against mine; she was so weak nowadays that it made me weep. This was not my Christine and I wanted her back, I wanted my wildcat angel determined to love me whether it was good for her or not. My spitfire who made me burn with a simple touch and who screamed with passion at my own. Not this weak mewling woman so helpless that the mere sight of her was so…_pathetic. _

Christine whimpered as I fed her chicken soup and warm tea, sleep weighing her eyelids down as I fought to keep her awake. I could not let her fall asleep till she had taken her medicine and let the soup soothe her poor throat. I held it to her lips and she drank it to make me feel better but was too weak to hold her head up. So I held her in a sitting position, rubbing her back as she coughed and struggled to swallow. I did the best I could to comfort her as I poured the medicine down her throat and she made a horrible gasping noise as she tried to force and keep it down.

I knew something was seriously wrong when a week had gone by and she had not gotten any better. __She was shivering and I reached out to feel her forehead where she was hotter than usual. I sighed, now she was running a fever and I must get it down before it gets out of control and became fatal. I pressed a cool towel to her head and she smiled, chilled a little and relaxed by the gentle coldness. I sighed in relief and relaxed a little watching her sleep and tuning into the rhythm of her snores and ragged breathing, allowing her comfort and peace to soothe me as I touched her white cheek, thinking of how lovely she was, even when she was ravaged by pain and sickness.

As I gazed at her I could not help but think of how weary she was as she slept through this nightmare. Most people's faces would be crinkled in lines of pain and weariness but her face was a slack miracle of childlike purity. I reached down and stroked her cheek, she leaned into my touch and her lips turned up in a tiny closed mouth smile. It warmed my heart that even in her state she still found comfort in my arms and at my touch.

This version of her reminded me of a shattered porcelain doll, so fragile yet so beautiful needing warm glue and a good warm wash to be made better. Her beauty still remained, but it had been ravaged by the weakness, there were dark circles under her eyes do purplish black that it appeared she was the victim of domestic abuse. This would never happen when she was in my care, but still people might get the wrong idea. That would cause problems because people would take one look at my face and assumed I had kidnapped her. Because why would a beautiful woman like her love a man like me.

They would never believe that I loved her and the feeling was mutual, they would believe I had brainwashed her. Then they would recognize her from her fame and the scandalous engagement to a French aristocrat. Of course, this would cause issues for me because then they would figure out that I was the Phantom and of course everyone knew of the horrible scandal that had rocked the city of Paris after they had finally gotten their heads out of their silly romantic clouds. I wished they would just forget me but I had been in the papers after I had dragged her off the stage that night.

Most of all they blamed me for ruining their opera house, as they should because I did cause it's burning. This had created even more of resentment because if there is one thing Parisians loved it was their arts and their romance. Both of which were now ruined because of my rage and unwillingness to accept the fact that she might love someone other than me. If anyone found out about our love things would get out of hand and the shit would hit the wind so to speak. Oh, it would hit so badly that things would spin way beyond my control. If I was discovered some greedy bastard would out me for the price on my head which was expensive.

I had seen the WANTED posters when I had left with Madame and her daughter in the night. They had born my face in all its horrible glory in a drawing of black and white that made me seem to be a walking skeleton, a fitting depiction in my opinion. The gaping holes in my head were appearing to drip blood and ooze dark black ink. It was truly a horrible sight, a picture of a child's nightmare or the monster they feared was under their bed waiting to snatch them from their dreams. The demon mother's prayed would not reach their babies at night.

Thus was my horrible visage and thus was the reason I thought I would never be loved in my life. After all my mother had not seen fit to kiss me even when she said I could have anything I wanted on my birthday. Of course, I did not understand the reason for her cruelty then as I do now. I did not know why she had seen fit to traumatize an innocent child at the age of five. Nor did I know what she meant when she said as long as I wore the mask I would never be harmed by that face again. At least she had possessed the care and compassion to tell me the horrible truth that it was my_ own _face in that terrifying mirror… horrible and distorted.

I had no idea why I had loved the woman so much when all she did was abuse me, and care more about her love life than her only child. She even courted a man who wished to lock me up in an asylum. He probably was married to her now, the thought of him being my stepfather and fathering children, normal children with her made me sick. At least my mother would be happy now as a child that was all I wanted. I had not understood that she hated me because her husband was not there and she had not had the beautiful son she had promised. I did not know then that I was a monster.

That I had learned the hard way, when that disgusting, obese brute of a gypsy had kidnapped me. He had dubbed me a living corpse and forced me to use my face as a fucking attraction and my voice to draw the crowds. Forcing me to sing for an hour on end with no rest till my voice was hoarse and giving me no water. That was my first sexual experience, a cruel and brutal rape and that was also the first time I committed the act of murder. There was no way in hell I was going to let him live after that.

I remembered that day he had barged into the tent that I had extorted from him, "corpse!" he shouted and grabbed my head tearing the skin and I screamed.

"Please master…' I begged, terrified as I had been as a child. "I am bleeding, please bandage my head."

"No…" he said cruelly and yanked me forward, "Now listen to me corpse, you are going to shut the fuck up!"

He threw me against the wall and I screamed, I knew what he was about to do. He had a fondness for men more than women, I knew he was about to rape me. "Please master…" I blubbered.

Javert slapped me hard and I heard a small pop, blood trickled down my face. I knew my nose was broken and I groaned and sank to the floor. He grabbed the little hair I had and yanked me back up and I screamed. He threw me on my back and pulled the horse whip off its hook, I knew what was coming and I braced myself for the impact. The whoosh of the whip rang through the air, then a snap and a horrible sharp agony. Javert hit me once, twice, three times and I could feel the warm, wet blood trickling down my back. No running down my back.

"Now, "he growled, "maybe you will behave." I groaned and he pulled me up again. "Shut up!" he bellowed in my face. "I am about to do you a great service, no woman will ever want you! Do you hear me corpse? No. Woman. Will. Ever. Want. You!"

Then it happened, he tore off my pants and raped me, I screamed and struggled but the more I did the worse it got. Finally I just lay there limp and he came over and over inside me. When he was done he got up with a satisfied smirk and licked his cigarette-burned lips before he kissed me on the ear and I shivered with disgust. He thought it was from pleasure and picked me up gently this time and kissed me deeply on the lips. The taste of his mouth and his tongue was grotesque and slimy. I gagged and he dropped me heavily on the dirt floor.

"I love you corpse we will do this again." He said roughly.

I saw the only way out then the knife gleaming and sharp as it dangled from the thick belt over his fat bulging belly. I reached down pretending to hug him as I slid the blade from his sheath and just like that plunged it into his belly over and over. His eyes widened as he sank to his knees and I plunged it into him one more time all the way to the hilt. Blood sprayed my face, hot sticky and coppery to the taste as he sunk to his knees and toppled over dead. That was my first taste of murder, an addiction that took me years to overcome.

My eyes closed as I thought of my mother, calling the man who was my real father to perform an exorcism on her little monster. I was indeed an ugly creature, and now I was wanted for ten-thousand francs and could never go back to my underground home. I ripped the poster off the lamp post where it was nailed and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it into the fire in lamp where the edge caught. I watched it smolder and fold up as it turned into ash and angrily stepped on it. I had thought that my life was ruined all in the name of an unrequited, unreturned love.

Now I was a fugitive running from the law, I had to live my life alone in the shadows, forever alone. Forever running until she had returned to me by some miracle of fate and made me a normal man. She was my only reason for sanity, my only reason to live and if I were separated from her there was no reason to live. If I were taken away from Christine, then I might as well be sent back to the gallows of France to my well-deserved death. But that would never happen, I would not allow it…no one would take away my Christine.

No one would find out who I was because then they would call the authorities and my criminal record would be found out. I would surely be tried and convicted of murder. If that happened then Christine would be a widow for I would most surely be put to death. They would show no mercy for me, not that I deserve any for now that I have a somewhat normal life I realize that killing those men did not help me win Christine's love. That was not how a gentleman won a lady as the Daroga had said long ago.

But still I have the social skills of a troll in a fairytale trying to eat the lovely princess. The ugly, monstrous troll trying to win her love but too repulsive and brutish to even have a chance at winning her heart. But then it turned into another fairytale, the Beauty and the Beast, although I am no handsome prince after marriage. Still she loved me and thought me beautiful and enjoyed our sexual experience, I was her dark prince. She was my fragile angel whose light needed restoration after this ordeal that it was my duty to provide as her spouse and her lover.

Therefore it is imperative that she recover from this sickness and be her healthy vibrant self again lest I go mad with worry. Right as I was going to eat lunch she feebly reached for me. I cupped her hand in both of mine, strong and reassuring as she opened her eyes and looked tiredly into my eyes. It broke my heart to see her like this, and when she coughed it sounded harsh as though her body was deliberately making her suffer. I stared back at her, my eyes worried and she reached up to touch my face weakly, a sleepy caress.

"Erik… it hurts…" she moaned.

"I know angel, you will be all right." I said.

"What's going on, what happened?" she asked, trying to hold me.

"You are very sick; you need more sleep and medicine…'

"I feel awful…" she whimpered, "I need a doctor."

"_No_, you don't…" he said firmly, "I will take care of you."

"But…. "She started.

"_No!" _I snapped, and she flinched. I turned my voice gentle, cupped her face and gave her the tenderest kiss I could manage, "I will take care of you." I laid her back down and covered her up snuggly. "Now, go to sleep."

Christine did not argue with me she did not have the energy and neither did I. God I am so tired and I laid down wrapping my arms around her. Soon I was snoring along with her feeling how loud it was going to be before it came out. She woke up from the noise of my exhausted sleep and shook my shoulder waking me. I offered a sleepy mumble and closed my tired eyes again, resuming my helplessly obnoxious snooze almost instantly. I couldn't help it; I was so tired I laid completely still, not even rolling over in my much-needed rest. I did not even feel her wrap her arms around my waist and woke up only when I heard her moan and saw her clutching her belly.

"Erik, please get the doctor on board…" she pleaded.

She looked in such distress that I could no longer deny her, "I will be right back angel try to relax."

"Thank you." She said a grateful tone to her voice.

I found the doctor in a flash, in the dining hall; eating kippers and cheese on toast, obviously an Englishman. He was old and had thick glasses just like my father and was wearing a white burlap coat. I held my nose as the smell of tonic and morphine wafted there, making me want to puke, it smelled revolting and I had to struggle to keep from gagging. The last thing I wanted to do was offend the man for fear he would refuse to help my ailing wife. I tapped his shoulder and he turned to me, his eyes immediately filled with compassion at my sorrowful, worried look. I realized when I saw him that there were tears running down my face, whether from exhaustion or grief of my angel's condition I did not know.

"What's wrong sir?" the doctor asked me in a kind voice.

"Please, I need help." I sobbed, speaking English.

"Of course…" he said, gently rubbing my shoulder, "but you need to tell me what's wrong."

"My wife is so sick… I tried to help her but she's not getting any better." I realized I was choking and I dropped to my knees weeping like a broken man.

"Speak in French, I learned it and it is your native tongue yes?"

I nodded suddenly blabbering about her illness, how worried I was. I could barely get the words out through my tears. The doctor gave me a sympathetic look and offered me tea silently. I took it hopeful it would calm me down but it did no such thing. It was impossible to keep it down with how much I was sobbing and hyper-ventilating. The tea went down my chin in a most undignified way, my gasping caused me to regurgitate the tea I had swallowed and as I coughed it up, he ran small circles on my back.

"Shh it's going to be all right…" he got down at my level and rubbed my shoulder.

"No, I only married her two months ago I love her so much and now I might lose her…" I sobbed, "I cannot bear that…"

"Then you must take me to her at once." He said.

I nodded my head and he followed me back to our room where Christine was moaning in pain. I went to her and wrapped her in my arms where she burrowed closed to my heart and cried. It broke my heart and I knew she could feel my tears dropping sadly on my head. She looked up at me with an apologetic look and fingered the dark circles under my eyes with tender pity. I shook my head, pressing her close to me and rocking her back and forth gently wanting her to relax and feel secure in my arms. She did, going slack before she looked at the doctor and questionably looked up at me. I told her in French that he was the doctor. He came up to us and asked her in almost perfect French asked what her symptoms were.

"I am so sick…" she moaned.

"I was aware from your husband's hysteria." He said gently. "Poor man…"

Christine moaned and touched my hand, too weak to lace her fingers through mine so I did it for her. "I am in terrible pain in my back, I can't keep anything down. "She groaned.

The doctor nodded, "anything else?" he asked.

"I am shivering and running a temperature, I am so tired." Christine whispered wearily.

He smiled and rubbed her hands, "do not worry Madame that is normal in the early stages of pregnancy with multiples. Congratulations to you both." He then took out three bottles, one orange, blue and red. "The blue is for the fever, the orange is for the pain, and the red is for the tiredness."

"Thank you," she said, touching her belly with a surprised smile.

He nodded and smiled at her turning to me. "You sir, need sleep and then you will be fine."

I nodded and stood still as the doctor left me standing there in complete shock and horror. Christine was pregnant, with my demon children.


	17. Chapter 16 Passion and Intensity

**Chapter 16**

**Passion and Intensity**

_Christine's POV_

I touched my stomach, not believing what the doctor had just told me. Erik and I were going to have a child, no not a child…children. I looked at my husband; he was so pale and tired that my heart broke. I reached out for him but instead of coming to me as he usually did he just stood there, rooted to the spot. All the color drained from his face and I tried to rise from the bed but was so weak that I stumbled dizzily forward and Erik finally sprang into action. He caught me in his arms and held me for a moment, crying like a child. I held onto him as tightly as I could in my current state, rubbing his back as my husband shattered my heart as only he could do. The broken tears, so cold and hard like hail falling relentlessly on my head.

How I hated it when he wept! So much pain and sadness in him, I looked up at his face and saw the crinkles in his expression showing his pain. I wished for nothing more than to have a magic sponge for which to wash away the torment in his eyes. He took my hands with his shaking ones; they were cold yet sweaty as though with fear perspiration. I felt his tiredness through his shaking body, guilt washing over me as he fought it so I could be in his arms. Erik released me but I did not do the same, a part of me did not want him to regain his composure. I just wanted him to cry out all these nightmares and sleep well for once in his life, not see the pain and not wish he could erase his life… in a nutshell I hated his suffering.

He needed me to hold him now, and I was more than happy to oblige him with anything he needed in life. Whether it was love, comfort or the needs of a mortal man it was my duty as his wife to tend to his needs. That included stopping his tears so he could have a good rest. I curled up on his chest like a kitten; the poor thing did not even have his cat anymore to give him comfort. But then he had me and I would hold onto him, as long as he needed whether it is for a moment or all night. My heart was aching for him, but the man was far too tired to do anything but weep at the moment. Tiredness did that to anyone and the worry he had experienced only made it worse I am sure.

He was overtired and ailing, I felt him slumping forward as though he were made of the weakest marble, well-aged and cracked from weathering the seasons for years on end. So old it seemed that its eyes had real wisdom in them. As old as father time himself and ready to seek eternal rest in the peace of heavens arms. That was my husband at the moment, as cold as that withered sculpture, ready to blow over in the slightest storm, crumbling to dust after being beaten so savagely by Mother Nature. The very mother who had sworn to love the only child she would ever have both nursed him and beat him all at once.

Just like his real mother had done, all I could think was thank god for his real father who loved him so much growing up. I pressed his head into my shoulder and placed my hands on the back of his head. I rocked him gently, the way daddy used to when I was crying. I sang to him until he quieted into hiccoughs and then I gently laid him down on the soft bed. He mumbled a drowsy protest but I was not hearing it, he was sick now and needed to rest his tired eyes. I fingered the dark purple half-circles under his eyes tenderly. His heavy eyes were open a crack and I could see they were burning and cherry red, but his eyes were closing and it would be no trouble to drift off in his exhausted state. He was still trying to speak but it just came out as a jumble of moans and mutters that made no sense whatsoever.

"Erik, shh sleep for me…" I whispered, placing my fingers over his lips and whispering 'hush'.

He moaned and mumbled again but offered no protest, I kissed his sleepy forehead as he tucked his chin into the crook of his shoulder. His eyes were shut now, his breathing slowed to a steady rise and fall. He looked soothed and as gentle as a sleeping cherub from the stories daddy had told her. The pillow sunken in and becoming warm with his warming body as I tucked him in, he sank deeply into the bed and snuggled the blanket as I pulled it up to his chin. Now it was my turn to tend him as his ridiculously loud snoring filled the room. I found its gentle steady rising to be rhythmic and soon I was breathing along with him.

_Inhale... 1, 2…exhale…1, 2… SNORE… 1, 2… repeat. _ He looked as peaceful as a child there in the bed. His face not so sunken, fuller cheeks and thin lips turned into a tiny smile, his lips parted so I could see the one part of his face that was beautiful besides his eyes. He had a perfect smile that melted my heart whenever he decided to turn on the seduction. I gently lifted his torso and he flopped on my arm. I gently removed his shirt and gazed on his scars on his body, long and twisted markings like snakes marring the solid perfect wall of his muscular chest. They looked almost poisonous as they coiled around his poor flesh.

It was touching to me that he had been through so much had fought his entire life just to get by in this cruel brutal world. Yet when it came to me he was as gentle as a lamb, no matter how tired he was or irritated to the point of distraction. He never complained when I threw up even when it landed on him. Just made a tisking sound and washed me, bringing me water to rinse my mouth, giving me medicine and then tucking me in with a lullaby. Sometimes, if I needed to use the facilities he would carry me to the restroom and wait for me to finish before I fell into his arms to sleep again.

Now I nurtured him, occasionally stroking his cheek, my poor back relaxing against the chair. I breathed in and out, every time he breathed in I followed along, every snore making me sleepier and my head was growing droopy. Erik's arms looked so welcoming and I was still so weak, too tired even to wonder how far along I was in my pregnancy. My head fell on the side of the bed for a moment, waking me. I stumbled to my feet as I felt him relaxing more and I climbed into the warm bed, barely able to keep my sleepy eyes open. I lie down on his chest and found him to be warm and solid, hard bodied and I liked it. He instinctively wrapped his arms around me and I looked at the clock, ten in the evening.

I felt my stomach flip twice and wrapped my arms around my belly and my children. My children, I was going to be a mother of more than one child. I wrapped my arms around my belly, already in love with them. The only thought left in my mind before I fell into a deep rest was how beautiful they would be. I swallowed my medicines and snuggled his chest and fell into the deepest state of sleep that I had been in since I had taken ill. Soon we were both snoring loudly, the cabin was dark and we were both sleeping, warm and snug together. We slept until morning, the sun warming my eyes to wake me.

I stirred, feeling Erik still snoring beneath my cheek, his arms draped heavily over my body as he snoozed. I smelled myself, discovering I was in desperate need of a hot bath, careful not to wake Erik I slid out of his arms gently. After placing a pillow in his arms, to keep him comfortable before I set up my bath. The warm water made my stiff muscles crack and pop, causing me to grown in pain. The noise woke my husband and he ran to me, his eyes full of concern. He reached up and stroked my face and I pulled him down into a deep, drugging kiss. He returned it in a desperate and grateful way, deepening it till his hands were gripping my shoulders.

He groaned and I felt him grabbing my erect breasts, fingering my hardening nipples so that I groaned. Oh, how I had missed his touch! The feel of that waking pleasure only he could bring, I had been so sick for so long that I had grown to see the way he loved me. It made me weep to see him so desperate to get me better. My husband's hysteria, the doctor had said, oh the unrelenting pain in his eyes. I could see the desperation and love in his eyes yesterday, the dried trails of tears on his cheeks.

Erik guided my hands to his trousers and worked himself out of them, already his manhood was rising. He wanted me so bad; the pain he had been through was so great that he needed this to assure himself that I was all right. I pulled him into the steaming water and he pressed me against the steel tub, before he entered me desperately. The next thing I knew I was moaning, and rocking as he clutched me to his body and rocked me so I was screaming against his chest. I reached down to feel him hard as a rock and he groaned. After making love to him so many times I knew how he liked to be touched and I stroked him from base to tip, he was the one screaming now.

"Oh _God _Christine…yes…" he groaned.

He moaned and ran his hands over my body, in places I did not even know I had. I arched my back and moaned as he ran his fingers up my spine. Erik's silver eyes were gleaming like raindrops on an emerald leaf in the first morning dew. Beautiful, breathtaking, eyes a woman's mother warned her daughter about. Eyes a woman could get lost in if she were not careful. Erik's hand cupped the folds of my sides, running cold fingers along my hot skin. But they did nothing but make me burn for him more.

"Erik, come closer to me…" I pleaded in arousal, crashing my chest into his so that my breasts were touching his. .

My husband leaned back and pulled me into his body, despite the bathwater it was covered in sweat. I licked the salty droplets from his chest, inhaling his scent of sex, arousal and healthy sweat and became drugged on it. I kissed him on the chest, sucking on his flat nipple noisily, flicking my tongue over it. He closed his eyes, loving the way my hot, moist mouth felt on him. I wondered what he loved so much. But then I knew from the strain on his face he was imaging the end as I made nursing sounds on him.

He opened his eyes; they were dreamy but wide with pleasure, _"Oh Christine… _that feels so good…So wet, so warm..._oh god_!" His voice was harsh as he grabbed my hair and pulled me closer to him.

I bit down gently, teasing his nipple until it was hard just like mine was. Erik bucked into my mouth, moving as though he were the woman helping mw lead him to his release. In his thrashing the soapy water sloshed over the side and he stared at me as I reached down to grip him, now that he was fully aroused. My husband may be in charge of the bedroom but something in me knew just what to do to get him writhing and needing me in full blown desire. I knew who my husband was and how I could coax him into allowing me to use him for my own pleasure.

"Where the hell did you learn to do this?" he asked roughly.

I ceased my attentions, giving him a playful wink, "That is for me to know and for you to never find out."

He thought I was innocent, ever the wilting blossom of a lady but now that I knew what I was doing it was easy to arouse him. So easy to make him want me, make him touch me as he pressed his fingers into my sides to keep me right where he wanted me. In response I kissed him and moved my hand to his thigh, and then the slightest brush over those parts that were reserved for a husband and wife. Erik moaned gently, and clamped my hand there so I had no choice but to touch him the way he liked. He gave me a savage, controlling look as if to say, I am in control not you and you will do as I please.

I gave him a teasing; wicked smile and then I touched him as he started to leak. He dragged my head up and kissed me deepening it in an addicting way. It was drugging and set me aflame and I lay against him again to muffle my groans so I did not disturb the people in the room next door. The water was still warm and did nothing to cool down our lust and soon he lifted me onto the center of his lap. I groaned as he suckled my left breast while he cupped the left one in his strong hand, his raindrop eyes begging me to trust him. I looked into his eyes and ran my hands over his sold muscles of his chest. Careful to run my hands over every inch of him gently so he groaned and pulled me closer.

He pulled my breast into his mouth and lowered his hand to my crotch, tangling his hands in the curls. I moaned as he stroked me there, pushing, pumping till I was riding to heaven and then he put his fingers in there. Erik pushed there as though he was making love to me with his hand, cupping me, cradling my womanhood, stroked me as I groaned and pulsed against him, bucking and thrusting until I climaxed, screaming. He smiled, giving me that look that now it was his turn to come and he got out of the now cool water and lifted me with him.

I reached for a cloth, paying special attention to the intimate parts of his body, he was glistening with water. He was beautiful, he was powerful, and he was magnificent. The pale sandy hairs on his chest soft but tangled with the moisture. As he stood in the sunlight he looked as though he were covered in precious diamonds. His chest looked strong and made of stone and the raw need in her eyes was animalistic, almost primal. It made me hot to think of the power he allowed himself to have over me when it came to our sexual needs but the aggression ignited my passion as much as his touch did.

I went to him and placed my wet hands firmly on his moist chest, pressing my naked body to his and allowing him to press me to the wall. This was where he teased me with his cock, just brushing my entrance and causing me to whimper. Glistening with the shiny water, I wanted to lick the diamonds from him and I did just that. I ran my tongue over every inch of him causing him to groan and followed my pattern down his chest with his hand. Erik was on fire, his heated body was aggressive and he dragged me up to his pulsing member. He lowered me to his hard cock. I groaned and fell against his body as I wanted him to thrust into me as hard as a warrior would, returning from a long battle and needing his ladylove to ease him after the torment of killing so many and suffering horrible wounds.

"Erik, take me to bed please…" I begged, not able to tease him anymore in my frenzy.

He said noting but drilled his tongue so far down my mouth that I was gasping. Erik lifted me stumbling as if he were drunk. When we reached the bed I was kissing his mouth, his tongue warm and gentle as he ran it over my teeth and then the roof of my mouth. He laid me on the bed looming over me and spreading my legs to touch me there. I groaned needing him but he pressed himself up on his arms in a push-up position, looming over me with that predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Yes, Angel… come now… tell your husband what you want…" his whisper tingling in my ear.

I could not say anything moaning as he lightly touched my entrance, just brushing it. His eyes laughed at me and in that moment I knew he was my master again. He could either prolong my agony or release it. I was at his mercy and helpless as I tried to lift my hips to meet him. Erik smiled darkly, and ran his hands over my hips the way he had done at the opera. I groaned and my husband pinned me down to the bed in a firm but not painful grip. My eyes widened and he shook his head, his eyes full of mocking male amusement.

"No, not until you tell me." He whispered against my throat.

"God Erik I cannot take anymore please just do it!" I begged.

"Do what?" he echoed, I was tired of him toying with me.

"Finish it!" I screamed and he smiled.

"Gladly." He replied.

His aggression was wild, untamed like the Phantom I had remembered, so passionate, as torturous as my fears of him were lost in his arms. In my mind I went back to the night of the opera where I had lost myself in the perfect blend of adultery, sex and passionate lust. Three mortal sins in which I would surely burn in hell for, as I forgot my ties to Raoul and just lay there, letting him do whatever he pleased while my fiancé helplessly watched. Looking on with tears in his eyes, I saw tears in his eyes and tracks trailing down his face.

My heart had broken for him, but I loved it, the feel of his cold hands on my hands as I reveled in a true love I did not know I had for him. I had loved it then and I loved it now. I was drowning in the sheer thrill of his command and control, yet his willingness to let me do as I pleased to him. The lines I knew the lines on his face were those of straining desire as he forced my legs apart. He growled with pleasure as he lowered his mouth and kissed me there in the most passionate way he could. Kissing me in a way I had never been kissed before.

But it did nothing to relieve my agony, in fact it only served to make it worse, the pain almost unbearable. I looked at him with tears in my eyes as he kissed me deeply, sucking on my tongue before framing my face in strong calloused hands roughened by years of playing the piano. I whimpered and tried to pull him to me, sobbing when he pulled away to wipe my tears. He framed me with his hands and my eyes pleaded for relief. He shook his head as if to say not yet and then he gave me a gentle kiss to ease my torture.

He was so gentle, always the lover unable to bear my tears. I wanted him inside me, that moment more than ever. I raised my hips and he very slowly lowered himself to me. Erik was tired, I could feel now that he wanted to finish as he allowed himself to be pulled down to my level. I laid my chin in the crook of his shoulder, as I pulled his body firmly against mine, not letting him up again. In a way telling him I was too exhausted to bear his touch and the pain I was in. He nodded, staring into my heavy, glazed eyes… so heavy that I let them close, groaning and rocking a little.

His eyes drooped too, I felt them closing as he kissed me tenderly, hiding his face in my skin. I went limp in his embrace, letting him do what he wished to me, not caring anymore. I just wanted him to give me peace now. Erik shook me lightly causing me to open my eyes and see the look of surrender and sympathy. I closed my eyes weakly again, muttering a murmur of tiredness and he nodded as I lay sleepy in his arms. It woke me up when he dragged me forward into his lips and I knew I needed to help him if we were to finish.

Erik pulled me into his arms and so I wrapped my legs around his waist settling over him. He entered me, gripping my bottom to hold me in place as I helped him by pushing onto him gently. Rocking up and down, up and down rocking unit he groaned. I felt mu release coming and I pulled him down on the bed, kissing him so hard that the world melted around us to nothing but me and my lover. I thrust into him over and over, screaming harder and he obliged. Riding me to where it was almost painful and I could feel him coming inside me, hot and sticky as he released the tension and worry in his body.

"I love you Christine… so much…" he said softly and finished inside me.

By the time he was done I was so exhausted, still he slammed his mouth into mine reminding me again who my master was. Erik drained my energy, leaving his mark on my full lips by tugging it out a little with his teeth. Giving me a little bruise to last a couple days, a visible mark I would see in the mirror, claiming me as though he were claiming a mate. My body was too weak with relief from the afterglow. We were both too tired to revel in it and I could feel Erik's muscles relaxing in a limp sort of way.

He collapsed, inside me crying on my chest as though our passion had broken his body. I wrapped my arms around him and held him for a long moment. I was so tired that I simply wrapped my arms around him and started snoring. God his love his love for me was so intense! It was no wonder I had run from him, fear of his challenge to my womanhood. After all I had been innocent of any man other than my father and old sweetheart. Who had merely pecked me on the day he had to leave at the age of twelve. But I was a woman now; soon enough to bear the children of this man whose passion was exhausting and his love never ending.

Erik untangled himself from my body, falling asleep almost at once, draping his arm wearily over mine as he slept. We were asleep till the sunlight of the next day. I hurt all over when I woke, having no idea how long I slept. Erik groaned drowsily when I twitched, waking. He stood up looking at me with tears in his eyes. He kissed my lips sleepily and lay down. I knew he would be safe tonight after all he had said himself. Love can heal. But as I looked into his eyes I saw the terrible fear there and knew he needed me to take care of him emotionally.

"Erik love- what's the matter?" I asked.

"You must get rid of those things…" he said tearfully.

"Things," I repeated, "What things?"

"Those…monsters growing inside you…"


	18. Chapter 17 Shocking Confessions

**Chapter 17**

**Shocking confessions**

_Christine's POV_

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, doing a double-take.

"Those things…that I _infected_ you with…kill those monsters before they are born."

I went white as a sheet; did he just call my children things and monsters? How dare he say such things about his own babies! About my children at that! This made me so mad, I felt my eyes turning to ice as I glared in into his raindrop eyes. Erik winced at me with honest pain and remorse filling watery eyes. I knew by the way he was looking at me that he felt honest remorse, but this time it had no effect on me. I had half a mind to slap him, but I settled for a verbal confrontation as I did not have the energy to lift my hand. So I settled for snapping at this man because I did not believe what I was hearing. He had made such passionate love to me moments ago and now he was asking me to do _this?_

He wanted me to abort my children; did he care nothing for my beliefs on the subject? I knew he knew not a god-fearing man, and he knew little more than prayers and hymns from my religion despite the fact that his birth father was a man of the church. Erik also although he knew the basics of my religion cared nothing for it to begin with. I did not blame him for this after the life he has had in the past. So I did not bring up the fact that Catholics did not believe in such things. That was one thing I would not ask him to comprehend but did he care nothing for my feelings? But then he did not know how I was feeling but still. I simply could not understand his utter lack of joy over this when I was so happy.

Here I am, married to my one true love; starting a new life in an exotic land I have never been to. Here Erik was he has everything he has ever wanted. He is loved, he is free…no one here is judging him. He has me, we are starting a family and he will never be alone again so why was he not happy? This was not the reaction of a man who loved his wife and spent hours in her arms creating these children. Papa had told me that impending fatherhood was the happiest and most important time in a man's life. The third next to his wedding day and the day he was born of course, so why was he acting like this?

"I will not get rid of my children!" I snapped.

"Yes you will…" he said wearily.

"Why?" I asked pointedly.

"Because I said so…" was his tired reply.

"Really, 'because you said so' seriously Erik," I rolled my eyes.

"Yes... I am your husband, you need no other reason." He snapped sharply.

"Oh my god… "I groaned, holding my face.

"There is no god!" He snarled.

I smacked my forehead, counting to three in my head like papa had done when he had tired of my childish antics. It seemed now that my own words were coming back to haunt me. I had told Raoul that only one man had the right to give me orders and that was my husband. Technically, Erik was right… I needed no other reason, but I wanted one nonetheless. I looked coldly into his eyes, not caring how angry he was. His temper no longer frightened me I had seen the man in his most vulnerable state.

Touched my husband until he was screaming for me and for a brief moment I was the mistress. For that short time I was in control of him had my way with him until we were so tired neither one of us had the strength to continue and we both passed out when we were finished until the sun woke us from heavy knock out dreams. I had seen how gripping and intimating he could be and how dangerous he was all at once. The Phantom was here fighting for control, but for the first time Erik was fighting back. His love overcoming the rage that my husband's alter-ego, his trauma was there but the man who loved me was slowly controlling him.

The Phantom had fully consumed him now, Erik had lost but the rage wasn't there, just the sadness that broke my heart and when he looked at me I felt my resolve cracking. But I had to be firm, in everything else I would give. In sex, he was master; in where we lived he had made an executive decision and I did not argue with him. But he would not make me kill my family and I think he could see the cold determination in my eyes. It was wearing on him and his sobs got harder till no sound came out of his lips other than a heavy gasp.

I knew how to bend my husband and although I hated to see him weep I knew him. My husband was a man with many emotional faces and masks. He could be aggressive, murderous even, and it was utterly terrifying. But he was also a gentleman, capable of incredible unconditional love, a heart that felt so deeply that the slightest rejection was more than he could bear. The slightest hint of pain was enough to cause him to kill himself and my refusal of him was enough to break him down to this. This blubbering, wretched man who was more a wounded animal than a human being as he crawled before me like a wounded dog to its master.

But the man I married was in there too, Erik was slowly regaining control of himself and turning back into the graceful and strong man I knew. It took him a few moments, as he clamped his hands to the rug like an anchor. He breathed in, once, twice, a third time as he steadied his shaking shoulders and ragged breathing slowly. I felt an urge to touch him and when I placed my hand on his shoulder he looked up at me with his tear-stained face. Touching him was a mistake when he met my eyes the force was back and he rose to his feet and I knew I was in trouble.

With a resounding crack my spine hit the wall with enough force that I saw a piece of the wall break off. I looked down and saw the chip was a good sized chunk of wood, and after a moment I registered that he had used _me _to break the wall. Then came the pain, the splinter had sliced through my nightdress and cut my back. Erik had me by both wrists and was crushing them, his rage was here now and I was scared of him for the first time since we had been together. I struggled a little, my eyes wide and tearful as I noticed the foggy taken-over gleam in his eyes.

There was no way for me to tell now who I was dealing with, Phantom or Erik. They were one in the same at this point. It was complete déjà vu for me, just the way they'd been when I had stolen his dignity on that stage at the night of the opera. He was both my husband and my dark protector at once, torn between his love for me and his rage at my actions. I looked at him and tears ran down my face, he looked at me but took no notice. I cried not because of the physical pain from this but my emotional hurt. I was hurt because Erik was so upset, sorrow because I was losing my dreams and he did not care.

"You will kill these _things _before they are born!" he snarled.

"No…" I said with as much force as I could.

"_What_ did you just say to me?" He said darkly.

"I said, 'no' no, I will not!" I said.

"Yes, you will!" he snapped at me. "You will get rid of those… those… _things!"_

"Our children are not things! They are living breathing children, beautiful children made of our love and passion. "

"No, they are monsters… demons…sickly…"

"No, they aren't…" I said.

"_Yes_ they are, end of discussion!"

Erik was standing there looking as serious as though he had told me I was infected with a fatal disease. He looked at me with sorrowful eyes as though he knew what my reaction would be. Erik sat down on the bed beside me, pulling me into a one-armed embrace that I tried to struggle out of. But he was much stronger than me and pressed me close. My husband put my head to his naked chest where I had just been laying under with my hands and it pumping like mad. His eyes were desperate for me to understand but I just could not. I would not let him ruin my joy at motherhood with this nonsense.

Erik seemed to sense my irritation as I rose from the bed, placing my hands protectively over my belly. He, ever the gentleman handed me a robe in silence and I snatched it from him aggressively. I slipped into it and realized then that I was weeping openly in front of the looking glass. So hurt by what he had said that I sobbed as I felt all my dreams with Erik were crashing down me. Erik pulled me tightly against him and hid his face in my hair as I was rocked back and forth. He dragged me up and kissed me deeply, I shoved at him pushing my flat hand against his chest.

"Erik… please don't make me do this…I can't take…ow…"

"Shh…" he said, "Angel…forgive me…" he kissed me then the way he had done at our wedding.

He then reached behind me and carefully wiped the blood from my back as he deepened it. The pain was sharp and hot and I wanted to pull away. The problem was that Erik was so much stronger than me that he just grabbed my hands and pulled me against him. I tried to struggle but he just wouldn't let go, when I realized my efforts were futile I collapsed on him. He wrapped his arms around me tightly; a comforting embrace that was so warm and gentle it made me want to weep. My husband held me for a long moment and then I cried. I just let go of my emotions and cried into his chest for a good five minutes before he kissed my head tenderly. I lifted my chin, trying to appear angry, but all I could manage was more hurt and sorrow.

He winced and pulled away from me, donning his robe and mask before he turned back to me. This made me so mad that I walked forward and quite literally tore that blasted mask from his face. I was not going to let him hide from me anymore; if he wanted to give me orders as my husband he would do so. As my husband! Not the Phantom, not as the Angel of Music! If he wished to attempt to force an abortion on me he better be man enough to look me plain in the face unguarded. No protection for him, no shield to keep him from seeing how much this hurt.

Erik screamed as his paper thin flesh came off but at the moment I just didn't care. His blood trickled down his face as I turned to the fireplace and quite angrily tossed it into the flames of the ornate fireplace. I tossed it with great determination into the flames where it went up in a cloud of ashes and smoke, turning to soot in front of our eyes. He watched it in horror and turned to me with rage in his eyes again and went to me as he pushed me roughly into the wall. I whimpered in fright as he grabbed my wrist painfully again, but I knew Erik would not hurt me. His love for me was too great for that. I reached with my other hand and stroked his cheek. It was smooth as marble and I noticed his weathered body was shaking as though he were about to cry. Erik tightened his grip to the point of where it was actually painful and now I was staring scared into his eyes.

My husband had truly lost his temper and I looked at him pleadingly, reaching for his tight wrist trying to pry his fingers open. He heard my mewling cry and His raging eyes turned tearful and he suddenly released me. Erik groaned and ran to get a handkerchief for his head, wetting it before it turned a bright shade of red. He dropped his robe then so I could see just what I had married. Not that I really cared I mean I had made I felt a twinge of remorse, as I looked at his tearful eyes before he stood naked before me, in the naked light of the morning.

I walked toward him and wrapped my arms around his back, pressing myself to him. He was trembling all over as I kissed his shoulder. His muscles rippled and he shuddered as my hands moved across his back. My fingers splayed out as far as I could, my hands trying to reach the man who was underneath this anger. I began moving my hands and stretching my fingers to touch the roughness of his back. The poor skin there was so rough, obviously never having been touched gently the way I was touching him now. No sex just comfort and love as he began to weep openly, I turned him around wrapping my arms around him.

"I am such a monster…" he groaned, "First your poor back and now this... "

"No sweetheart, I'm all right…" I said softly.

"I am a horrible husband…" he said. "You should leave me…"

I forced a laugh trying to make light of the situation, "Leave? Where would I go? We are on a boat love…"

"When we land, you can leave me…" he said gravely.

"No love it's all right…we will be fine together you will see." I crooned gently.

Erik leaned into my hair, his arms weakly going limp at my sides as I felt his body shake. My hands wrapped around his head and I rocked back and forth. I went down with him as he fell to his knees sobbing, but I was not about to leave him like this. Erik looked so tired, he laid down on me and I had forgotten my anger at what he had told me to do. I sang to him, feeling sick to my stomach like I was going to throw up. Erik looked at me and I gave him a deep kiss, till he was leaning brokenly against the wall with no energy to hold me back. He looked at me, crying and coughing.

"Why…" he sobbed.

"Why what…" I asked, touching his face and he cried harder, "Why what?" I repeated.

"Why won't you listen to me?" He wept.

"Erik…I want to have my children with you." I said making my voice as gentle as I could, "You are scared is all, and I am too. This is a huge change for all of us but when the children are born you will see how easily fatherhood comes to you."

"I can't Christine…" he cried.

"You can't what?" I asked.

"I…I…can't have children."

He obviously could as I was pregnant, but his pain was so real that it actually made me scared. I wrapped my arms around my stomach feeling my babies kick me in a healthy way. I was obviously at least four months pregnant that was the only way the doctor could tell that I was pregnant. But then…oh no he did not mean that his sperm was as deformed as his face, did he? If it were than perhaps I would miscarry and I could not bear that. I did not care if they were ugly or handsome, they could be walking undead for all I cared as long as they were breathing.

"Explain…" I said.

"I do not wish to hurt them." He cried.

"Hurt them?" I echoed.

Erik gave me no answer, but started to sob and weep and gasp as though he were suffocating. It was horrible to hear him weep like this but I wouldn't give in on this even for him, if I did that would mean the end of not one but two or heaven forbid three innocent lives. Lives that I was responsible for now, letting him kill them would be murder. Murder of the worst kind, a father killing his own children! I glared at him and he shrank away before he began to blather incoherently and I did not understand him at all. Not that I ever _really_ understood him to begin with, he always talked in riddles. There was something terrifying about the fact that he even feared he would harm them. He choked out some more incoherent gibberish, flailing his arms about and clawing at the air.

I could tell he was trying to say something but all this moving and raving was driving me mad. I reached over and slapped him lightly. Erik blinked looking stunned at the feeling but looked at me, fell to his knees and cried. Babbled more and then he went to me and hid in my dress, my anger was evaporating now into worry. I had never seen Erik like this even in his rage, he was powerful and loquacious. Erik was eloquent, never tongue-tied like this.

"What on earth are you talking about?" I asked finally.

"My son…failed my son…"


	19. Chapter 18 Sorrows of a father

**Chapter 18**

**Sorrows of a father**

_Christine's POV_

I froze, "you had a son?"

Erik had fathered a child before…that explained the lovey-dovey attentions he had given me as a child. The overprotective, 'keep everybody else but me away from the baby at any costs' and the loving guidance I had received from him when he was my guardian. It explained the way he always was, that despite his coldness and his horrors of his life he loved to spoil me and baby me. Erik was a father in every way and why couldn't I see it before? But then if he was a father then where was the baby? Strangely enough this did not surprise me now that I thought about it; he was two decades older than me after all.

But then, if he had one secret how many others were there? Was Erik married to someone else before me? If so was that woman still alive and pining for the husband she had lost? I had seen no wedding ring on his hand except for mine but if he was a family man than surely the child had been born of a woman. Perhaps I am mad but Erik did not seem the adopting type, I know he had fostered me but that was special. He had been grooming me to grow into the woman that he loved and had made sure that I never referred to him in a fatherly way. I assumed this was to make sure there was no chance of me feeling paternal affection for him and yet…he could not help himself.

My head was beginning to ache terribly as it always did when I was thinking of even trying to figure out the web of Erik's mind. Nonetheless, my questions would not be silent in my mind. Where was the child and why hadn't Erik mentioned him to me before? It seemed my beloved was a man of many secrets, some I would find rather unpleasant as they were revealed to me. I wondered what other things Erik had never spoken to me of yet, how many dark secrets and personal rings he had locked in the loops of hell inside his ever-bleeding heart.

My anger had gone and I just stood there a mass of heartache and confusion. Erik was hurting and I was hurting for him… the ragged sobs shaking him were enough to kill the heart of any person and for me it was twice as bad. I wasn't even mad anymore, I just wanted him to be at peace and calm and smiling as he was on our wedding night. I wanted him to be so ridiculously happy and in love the way he had been before he had found out that I was pregnant.

Erik broke my thoughts as he spoke a name out in a despairing way, "Reza…"

"What happened?" my voice was soft, coaxing.

"I worked for the Kahunum of Persia for a time. Her architect, employed to design torture chambers."

I shivered, "What were they like?"

Erik smiled, "They were beautiful, forests and deserts looking as if they were made of gold."

I had to grin; it seemed even in his pain he took pride in his work. "Go on…" I said, hoping to cheer him up.

"I spent years working on them they had to be perfect, lethal, effective and pleasing to the eye… just perfect…or else."

I shuddered, "Or else…" I prompted.

Erik said nothing but gestured to his torso, shaking. I nodded, kneeling down on the floor beside him and rubbing his back in circles. He laid his head on my lap and choked out more gibberish. I shook my head, feeling his pent up exhaustion through his body. His pain and grief was palpable and though I wanted answers and needed to make him see reason this was impossible with him this hysterical. First things first I had to get him calmed down. I dragged him to the bed and sat him down, placing my hands on his knees waiting for an explanation. He just lay back on the bed, looking worn out.

I rubbed his back and shoulders, propping him up as I knew what was going on. All the pent up emotions he had were being released. The stress, the fear, the years and years of emotions that he had been bottled up, it was coming out, and unfortunately for me I was the one to catch the heat of the fire. But perhaps it was fortunate because this way I was getting to know him, the real him. Not the Angel waiting in the mirror to steal me only after another man took an interest. No, this was Erik Mansart, the broken, brilliant and violently in love man who although was willing to die for me could not keep fears of being a father at bay.

I wanted to sit there all day long and talk him through the pain and fears the way a normal wife would a first-time father. But that was even stranger because he wasn't a first time father or so he had just said, so this was beyond normal nerves. This was melodrama at its highest point. The reaction, the orders and the tears were so much deeper and so much rawer than they should have been. True everyone reacts differently to situations but this was just bizarre even for him. I felt my own tears coming, unable to be strong for him anymore and I leaned my head on my knees and let a few tears fall.

This was the only relief I would allow myself, let a little pain leak out but never all the way. Not in front of Erik when he was like this, I had to be strong and calm. One of us had to be steady, the rock in this raging storm of our emotions. Of course there was no hiding my emotions because he was telepathic I swear because the moment I breathed in he knew I was sad. Erik scooted closer to me on the bed and moved my hair away from my cheek before tugging me so that my head landed on his chest. I reached over and pulled his hand around to place it flat on my belly, not letting him pull away.

"See Erik," I said. "You can have children, they are alive and well." I smiled at him.

This was apparently the wrong thing to say because he sighed again and got up walking out the door to the rail. I watched as my powerful husband was reduced to this mass of pain and confusion, he was currently. I hated this, I wanted him to yell, curse at me, and demand me to kill them again anything but this broken man before me. I followed him to the rail and saw him looking at the sea; he was looking east towards the golden lands he had told me about so often. I watched his expression change from several emotions at once and back again.

His eyes went from sad, to self-loathing to apologetic in the space of three seconds. I placed my hand over his, patted it to tell him I would be there when he was ready to talk and left him alone. I do not know how many minutes passed before he turned to me and I got the worse shock of my life. Erik turned to me with a look of despair and mouthed something although I did not have the chance to read his lips. He then stood upon the rail of the boat as though he were preparing to jump into the wave our vessel had created. In that moment my heart stopped and when it began to beat again I walked cautiously out.

"Erik…" I started, "What are you doing?"

"Goodbye Christine…"

"Goodbye?" I echoed and then it hit me." No, no Erik please do not do this."

He said nothing but leaned over the side, ready to plunge. I ran forward and grabbed him; he was so shocked that he didn't fight me for which I was thankful. We went crashing to the deck his back on mine so we were lying flat against each other. The fall hurt my back but I did not care, I pushed him as hard as I could and when he rolled off of me I got to my knees and slapped him as hard as I could. Once, twice, and then a third time, Erik made no attempt to fight back and let me hurt him as he always did.

"How dare you!" I shouted. "You bastard, how dare you try to leave me like leave me like this!"

"Christine…" He started but I was not listening.

"Shut up!" I snapped, "Don't speak right now you…"

I meant to say more, but the feeling of almost losing him was too much for me and pretty soon I tackled him and began to cry. I laid on him and broke down, showing him just how much this whole mess was hurting me. I no longer cared about being strong, I wanted him to be hurt for me the way he was right now. Erik wrapped his arms around me and took me inside, while I screamed my lungs out into his shoulder and pounded his chest with my fists. He sat down on the bed with me and rubbed my back; I did not have the energy or will to take him to task.

But when he started to cry too I forgot my anger and allowed him to hold me as we cried ourselves out. When I believed him to be calm enough I got up from his side to go get some water for his poor face which had begun to bleed from my blows, but he stopped me. He reached out and took my hand in his, causing me to turn around to look at him. He wasn't saying anything but I sat down again when I looked into his eyes, they were glassy…frightened as they had been but the pain was chilling and he tightened his grip. It was as if the very way he gazed at me was breaking his heart, as if he could no longer bear to feel the full force of his love and his heartbreak was breaking my own.

"Christine…" he groaned softly, "Don't leave me…"

I climbed into the bed with him, wrapping my arms around him. We had a good long snooze until Erik woke me with a whimper and a scream of fright. My hands went to his shoulder and I shook it, to which he responded with a weary mumble and a heavy arm pulling me closer to his heavy chest. I could hear the frantic beating of his throbbing heart; his chest was sticky and sweaty as it glistened. He groaned and a tear ran down his poor face, worse yet was he did not respond to my touch and seemed to be in some kind of trap. I saw he was deeply asleep but I had to wake him so I placed my lips over his and he jolted awake.

His hand went to my throat and he slammed me against the bed board painfully. My head made a horrible cracking sound against the wood and I felt it splintering on my head. The sting was sharp and dull like needles stabbing me, breaking off in difficult to reach. It really hurt and I felt blood running down the back of my head and then I could not breathe. My husband was choking me with a wildness to his eyes that was absolutely terrifying; I did the only thing I could. I reached for the lamp and lit it as fast and weakly as I was able to. Erik blinked and threw himself off me and crawled into a corner, curling up in a ball to weep. After I rubbed my now bruised throat I went to him and pulled him up.

He rose with me and then I felt the first wave of dizziness hit me and I stumbled. Erik caught me and put me on the bed, pulling the broken shards from my head, but not before washing my injury. As you can imagine this hurt like hell and I groaned when he plucked them out before washing the blood out of my hair. My husband then wrapped my head up in a strip from the blanket. I looked at him and saw the remorse, torturing his face and I knew then that he was not trying to abuse me. It was the nightmare, whatever hell he was lost in was torturing him and I needed then to show him just who he had married. I went to him and wrapped my arms tightly around him till he lost his composure again and lay on my shoulder.

"My baby…" he sobbed.

I sighed, saying nothing as I took him back over to a nearby chair where I set him up with a cup of soft English tea. It wasn't his favorite but it was softer on his no-doubt upset stomach then the bitterness of the Russian lemon. He drank it slowly, and I rubbed his shoulders. They poor bones in the blades cracked and popped like wood swelling to ashes in a campfire. Erik groaned and leaned back on the headrest of the chair. I smiled a little and ran my fingers along his neck, and he sighed gently opening his silver eyes and I smiled down at him before kissing his chin and then his lips.

When I received no response I kissed him with more force and if he didn't know my real intentions right now I am sure he would've thought me wanton. I could tell that Erik himself was in no mood for physical contact right now, but he needed it almost as much as I did if not more. Erik kissed me back but it lacked the usual passion and even affection he usually showed. It was sad and weary, almost like he had lost the will to live. I sighed and knelt down in front of him, I wanted him to tell me what the matter was but first I just removed his head piece and brushed his hair out. Erik put the tea down and groaned laying his face in his hands.

"Erik what happened to your son?" I asked finally, feeling he had a need to talk about whatever this was.

Erik looked at me and shook his head, "I didn't mean to." He sobbed.

I was becoming impatient, "For God's sake Erik didn't mean to what? Stop talking in riddles and give me a straight answer…please."

"Kill him…"

I stopped dead in my tracks, blinking rapidly, trying to absorb what I had just heard. I had expected the child to be gone; I had prepared myself for the fact that my stepson if I had one was dead. But not this, not that my Angel of music was capable of such a thing, of course I knew my husband was capable of murder. I had seen him kill two people simply because they were in his way, but his own child? I backed away from him slowly, putting my hand over my stomach beginning to panic. If he did it to his first would he do it to me too?

He looked at me slowly, seeing my fear he got to his feet and advanced a few steps. The more he advanced the more I backed away, this went on for a good five minutes before my back hit the wall and I groaned. Erik moved forward and I shrank away from him, this was the worst time yet I was terrified. He stopped in front of me, reached out his hand and tried to touch my face but thought better of it and drew back. Still he reached over and touched my curls, shaking his head as if to reassure me that he meant me no harm.

I waited and when he spoke again it was a hushed whisper, "I did my best to help him… I loved him."

"Erik you need to tell me what happened this does not make any sense." I said.

Erik nodded, "I was paid handsomely for my work as an architect, mostly in gold but one time with a slave girl. Rayooka, she was lovely –not you- but lovely."

I nodded, "Yes and?"

"I was forced to have sex with her to save her life, if she denied me or if I did not perform for the Khahunum she would die. But I made sure it was only once." I said nothing, he continued. "She got pregnant from that one time, but I paid Nadir Khan to marry her. He of course fell in love with her and the child was born Reza Nadir Khan…but he was mine."

I smiled a little at the way he said mine, like a proud father would, he went on. "Continue."

"Nadir allowed me to stay in Reza's life. The boy was perfect in every way, brilliant, but he was sickly, and it got so bad… that he lost his sight and mobility. The only thing he didn't lose was his brilliance and his ability to feel pain and the worst part was…" He trailed off.

"Was?" I repeated wondering how it could get worse.

"He knew…" Erik cried, "My son, when I went to give him his sleeping draft he looked at me and said, 'Uncle Erik, I know you are my daddy…I hurt please make me better daddy. I told him I would and I loved him. He said he loved me too and begged me again to make him better so I did, I gave him his medicine and he died in his sleep." He looked at me, "I cannot have more children, if they were sick like that…no not again."

His voice trailed off and I saw him start to cry again, this time letting every emotion out of him. I did what my father used to do for me, I stroked his head and made gentle tisking sounds. He looked at me pleadingly and I allowed him to lay his head on my breast and then I let him lay flat down on my lap with his head resting there while he cried.

I stroked his head, "Shh my love it's okay he is in a better place now and soon…"

I was interrupted by someone knocking on our cabin door shouting, "Land ho, all Ashore!"

**A/N Yes the boat journey is finally over and now the real fun begins, please review.**


	20. Chapter 19 The other side of the fence

**Chapter 19**

**The other side of the fence**

Erik sat up; sniffling again before wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve the way a little boy might do when losing the handkerchief his mother gave him. Christine had to smile because in a way even though he had the mind of a grown man and the sex drive of one sometimes he did the most boyish things. She found it adorable and gently squeezed his outstretched hand before trying to stand up and stumbling a little. He caught her arm so she did not face-plant on the wooden floor and nodded as he gave her a little tug to try and help her to her feet.

Christine eased herself up and teetered a little as her children kicked at the same time, to let their mother know they did not appreciate her moving herself and be affect them, from their comfortable positions. He got up and wrapped his arms around her tightly, laying her flat against his heart before reaching down to pick up his bag. Christine tried to lift her own but she groaned because the kids did not like her bending over. This was common with multiples that she would feel like she was further along in her pregnancy than she was but she didn't expect simple things to be so hard.

It seemed that simple things like lifting her bag and staying awake were difficult for her nowadays. Christine marveled at how Erik had not run for the hills through this mess, even if they were on a boat he could have easily made himself scarce. He had done it well enough when he lived in his house by the lake. In that fortnight she had spent with him she had seen him only at night when there were twenty-four hours in a day. Christine barely noticed he was there half the time as he only appeared when he wished for her to sing and then would vanish nearly as quickly as he came.

In fact, now that she thought about she had seen Erik only a half a dozen times in that little house by the water. This was odd because the house had only three rooms, besides the kitchen and sitting area where his piano was, hers, a washroom and his own room, one of those she was never allowed in. The fact was that he had made himself invisible when he wished and could have surely done so again but here he was smirking at her in fact as he made a move to help her and she waved him off. Erik for his part wanted to help her but knew it would be best to give his wife her pride and not push her; also he found her stubbornness just a tiny bit amusing.

She tried again but Erik shook his head, and took the bag with the other two fingers of his right hand before grabbing her other hand and taking her outside. As they excited the door the sailor stopped in his tracks and stared at them. Christine turned and looked back, she noticed the man's stares and then grabbed Erik hard and kissed him full on the mouth. He gasped and kissed her back after a moment, caught up in the moment and oblivious to the audience. The sailor for his part was in shock as she removed his mask and took one of his hands to place it over her belly.

The sailor cleared his throat but Christine ignored him, if the man wanted to stare then she would bloody well give him something to stare at. She kept kissing her startled husband not caring if he did not kiss her back. She took her lovers mask off and heard the man gasp, but instead of Erik tensing he smiled all of a sudden and looked at the boy out of the corner of his eye. In that moment he knew what she was up to and loved her all the more for it. God his girl had spirit, she truly was a wildcat her actions daring the boy to question the love between her and her husband.

He stared as she wrapped her arms around her husband and he dropped the bags to wrap his arms around her in return. The kiss lasted a good half a minute before they had to pull away before things started coming off. Erik reached up and they stroked each other's faces, lost in their moment and forgetting that they were supposed to disembark. He remembered after a moment and gathered their things before nodding that they should head to the door Christine followed but turned to smile and wave at the sailor boy who was blushing at them obviously embarrassed by his rudeness.

Christine followed her love outside and immediately regretted it. As happy as she was that their journey was over she wished they had not gone outside to see the water. The pitching and tossing of the boat was ten times more potent when she looked at the swaying water. Christine's stomach churned and she leaned over the side of the boat and gagged. It was just a little at first, but then as so often happens she gagged again and the floodgates opened. Christine became violently sick and Erik put down the bags to hold her hair, he then wrapped his arm around her.

Christine looked up at the silver sky where the clouds rolled in like thick sheets to cover the ghostly pearl that was the April sun. Erik looked up at the clouds and reached over to the lost and found container where he found a pretty parasol with swans swimming on blue waters, which he presented to Christine and she took without question. She knew stealing was wrong but she also knew better than to argue with Erik and also if the original owner wanted it so badly than they wouldn't wait three months to come get it. So she shook her head and hung her new umbrella over her arm

Erik led Christine to the top of the deck, and watched the boat pull into a massive harbor of people that were sitting there. They were all different shapes and sizes, and most of all they were deformed. Erik frowned and pulled Christine close to him so that she leaned on his chest, and she hid her face in his chest. The performer in her was struck with a case of bad stage fright, and she leaned into him to be her dark guardian and shield her from this group of strangers who looked like they were the ones heaven rejected. Which they were not but this was the way they looked, horrible figures out of a child's nightmare. People with huge humps on their back, stumpy legs and faces that were so twisted they looked like gargoyles.

There were some that were worse than others, some of them were merely scarred and others were so bad it made Erik seem as beautiful as her former intended. Christine looked at him; he was holding her tighter at the sight of them too. She shuddered and hid her eyes by staring at the deck, ashamed of herself because she believed herself to be over that impulsive reaction to deformities but this was scary. It was as if she had left the glittering lights of Paris for the mouth of hell where the poor wretches were ignored by the hand of heaven.

These were the Phantoms and the outcasts of her mortal world, the ones that people laughed at and mocked in the gypsy fares. Christine had thought that Erik was the only deformed person in the world in her naivety. But she was wrong and these people were worse, they had not even tried to conform to the polite societies of life but created their own in which they lived. There on their little island in a society all their own where those who were once rejected and the ugly were embraced and where mortal beauty meant nothing and was even disliked.

She looked up at Erik and noticed he looked pensive as well, as his hand closed over hers when the captain shouted to get off the boat. As the passengers disembarked Christine noticed that from the lower cabins came up, they were impoverished deformed people too. The normal ones like the good doctor were getting off and going to the ticket booth to buy passage to whatever final destination lie ahead for them, to do whatever it was destiny had in store for them. It hit her as she watched the freaks run or limp off and hug families who were waiting for them.

These rejected people loved one another, hugging and kissing and weeping openly as the people found acceptance in each other's arms. Christine had to smile as she thought for the first time that things would not be so bad. Soon she would be that wife with her children waiting on the doorstep for her husband to come home from work with his children in the wings. She smiled until the group on the docks turned their heads in her direction in a way that she found unsettling. Erik noticed them too and pulled Christine closer to him protectively.

He would have been at ease with the sight if she had not been there with him. No one would have noticed him, here he was just one of the many men here struggling to make his way in this world but she was the outcast here, her beauty was no longer a gift but a curse. What was worse was now as her husband he could be either worshipped for his accomplishment or exiled for marrying a normal woman. They stepped off the boat and onto the docs; Christine's hand trembled in his as the captain got off. Now they were truly alone, no one here cared about them and all they had was each other.

Erik kissed her head discreetly, feeling how tired she was and knowing the boat journey had been hard on them both. He took her hand and they began to carefully lead her down the busy street, passed crowds of people who were staring at Christine with looks that would strike her dead. Erik pulled her down the street and put her hood up over her head. Christine made no protest knowing her husband had his reasons but when he pushed her head down and made her look at the street that hurt. She cried as they went on, grateful for the noise of the docs so that he did not here her as he tugged her on relentlessly to the edge of the group.

She looked up when he released her arm and saw that he led her to an inn with a big sign that read Red Fish inn and Suits. It was a dusty old place, hardly the accommodations she had been used to as of late but she didn't complain. Erik knocked on the open door and –very rudely- did not wait for an answer before grabbing her hand again and leading her into the lobby. Inside it was cool and empty and he motioned for her to have a seat while he asked for a room. She obeyed him, grateful to be off her feet for a moment even though the cushion she sat on kicked up a cloud of dust and caused her to cough.

The walls were bare except for a picture of a man in a powdered wig and a couple of flags crisscrossing each other. Erik went to the counter where seated there was a fat man whose face was lumpy and covered in bumps. Erik sighed and rang the bell on the desk, and the man ignored them reaching into his pocket pulling out an overused match and the stump of a cigar. He lit it and inhaled on the stump so hard that he gagged on it. Some of the smoke came out in puffs when he choked on it and sprayed it all over his white bib-like vest. Erik rolled his eyes and rang the bell again and this time he looked at him, his facial bumps oozing puss and his eyes were watery.

"What can I do you for?" he asked in a scraggly voice.

"I am Erik Mansart, my wife Christine and I just got off the boat and we need a place to stay the night." He said.

"Yer wife eh," He looked skeptical, "Where she at?"

Erik turned to her and nodded his head and she slowly got up and she waddled over to the desk. The man looked down at her waist and then back up to her. The hood did not hide her beauty and his disgust was obvious. He reached across the counter and threw her hood back before spitting into the trash bin. Christine blinked, obviously never having had that reaction to her beauty before. She looked questionably at Erik who shook his head before looking back at the man who appeared utterly disgusted.

"You can stay but not 'er." He said.

"But sir…" Erik started.

"No 'buts' her kind are not allowed here, now if she was any kind of good wife she would let u stay here and go outside, provide for her man y'know."

"Come Christine we are leaving." Erik said and she nodded.

"Yeah keep walking ya normy!" The innkeeper shouted.

Erik's eyes flared and he turned to Christine grabbing her hand and pushing her gently towards the door. He then turned around and with raging eyes walked toward the innkeeper, whose eyes were growing larger and larger with fear by the second. Erik did not say a word but simply picked the toady man up by the collar, slammed him into the wall and strangled him. He made a choking sound and groaned as his head cracked against the plaster. Christine screamed and pulled at Erik's arms but that did nothing and he slammed his head against the stone so hard he lost consciousness. Erik smirked, dropped him to the ground and clapped his hands together to dust them off before kicking him one more time and walking away.

He took Christine's hand wordlessly and led her outside to the street where it had begun to rain in the dreary April morning. Erik slammed the door so hard that the doorknob came off, just then it began to sprinkle and he grabbed her hand as she opened her umbrella and placed it over her and Erik. They walked on together, him telling her to stay close and her obeying him without question. As they went on they passed this group of three men, all horribly disfigured twice as bad as Erik. Her husband pulled her closer, and one man turned to them and whistled loudly,

"Keep walking." Erik said not liking the way they were looking at them.

Christine didn't like it either; one of the men was horribly hunched with a hump like a mountain. He was so hunched that the monstrous Quasimodo would seem like a normal man. Another man was mangled in the face so badly that it looked as if his mouth was going to come off. The third man was skinny, and had piercings all over the warty oozing lumps in his face like the innkeeper but younger…he had beady eyes and spiky black hair resembling grass. But the most striking thing was how huge they were, all looked to be over six feet with bulging arms looking as though they could break limestone.

"Hey man!" he shouted at Erik.

It was the pierced man, he had a high-pitched squeaky voice and ignored Erik's not hearing him. He came up behind them and grabbed Erik by the shoulders in a friendly way pulling him away from Christine. Erik looked up at the man and nodded, taking off his mask and pretending to be friendly though his eyes kept darting to Christine worriedly as the other two men undressed her with their eyes. The pierced man noticed his friends staring at her and licked his lips openly before turning to her husband again and winking with a gap-toothed grin of yellowing teeth.

"Hey man nice girl!" he said in a falsely admiring tone.

"Thank you." Erik smiled, "She is lovely isn't she?" he asked turning to Christine with a proud little smile.

"She sure is," croaked Hunchback behind Erik. "How much you want for her?"

Erik turned to the man, "Excuse me?" he asked.

"How much?" he asked again.

"Much?" Erik repeated.

"For your normy?" he looked at Christine licking his lips.

Erik's eyes widened, "She is not for sale." He said and grabbed her hand

"Aww, c'mon… share!" the second man shouted distracting Erik.

Erik went over to Christine and began to pull her away and into his arms, Just then the third man came up and grabbed Christine out of Erik's arms, She screamed as Erik was held by the second man, a huge hulking brute of a man whose face was crooked and lips looked like they were about to come unhinged. He was breathing hard as he slobbered on her and ran his slimy tongue over her neck Erik struggled against them but those hulking muscle men restrained him as the one tore the bodice of Christine's dress open and looked lustily at her breasts before he squeezed one of them.

Christine whimpered and struggled violently, "Erik!" she screamed, "Help me!"

Crooked Jaw slapped her, "Quiet you!" And when she looked at Erik her nose and upper lip were bleeding.

Erik's eyes narrowed and he felt his control slip; he did not notice anything else but that man hitting his wife. He let out a roar and used the men's weight against them, the blackness and rage giving him superhuman adrenaline. Erik threw them against the stone of the street and hit them once, twice, a third time and then a fourth. Pierced man was bleeding and Hunchback screamed as Erik snapped both his arms back and they snapped viciously behind him. Christine screamed too as she heard that dreadful snap and saw Erik put her tormenter quite literally into a wall. He dragged him out of the stones bleeding and dropped Hunchback on top of the Pierced man.

Thankfully for Crooked Jaw he saw the carnage and had the good sense not to push his luck the way his friends had. He backed up when Erik advanced on him, dropping Christine roughly to the ground and running off in terror to hide from this masked madman powerful enough in his rage to take on and best the three of them. Erik went to Christine and gently lifted her to her feet where she held onto him for a long moment, weeping and trembling like a child tormented by the monster under their bed. Erik wrapped his arms around her and held her for a moment as she cried all over herself and him before looking at him.

Erik's heart broke and he tried to pull her to her feet but she stopped him saying, "I want to go home."

He shook his head, "We cannot go back there you know that…I am a wanted man."

She turned angry on him suddenly, "Why?" she asked and he had no answer, "Why?" she asked again.

"Why what?" he echoed.

"Why did you do all those things!" she shouted, "Why couldn't you just come out and introduce yourself rather than kill all those people!"

"Oh yes Christine I could just walk up to you and say hello I'm in love with you. Do you hear yourself?" asked Erik trying to remain calm.

"That would have been better than what you did pretending to be the Angel of Music! Then kidnapping me and now this…"

"If I had done that, introduced myself as nothing more than an aging composer you wouldn't have loved me when the Vicomte wanted you as well." Erik pointed out.

"It wasn't the money Erik don't you get it!" she shrieked.

"No I don't so please explain it to me!" Erik snapped at last raising his voice. "Please tell me what he had that I didn't if it wasn't the money was it the looks?"

"No it wasn't the looks either Erik I am not that shallow or heartless that beauty is all that matters to me." She said softly.

"You sure fooled me." Erik sneered, "As I recall my face was so distorted and deformed that it was hardly a face."

Christine rolled her eyes, "Oh come off it Erik, you know damn well my running from you had nothing to do with your looks."

"Really…" Erik coughed sarcastically.

"Yes really, I kissed your face that night it's not your face that's the problem." She said.

"Then what was it? You still have yet to tell me." Erik said.

"You scared me… your emotions were so intense I didn't know what to say or do with you…and Raoul was… He was safe…" she said.

"Oh…" Erik said looking ashamed.

"Now this, I'm scared again and now it's worse because I am pregnant and I don't even speak English. I am scared… we have been here less than one day and I have already been attacked…" She was crying again.

Erik shook his head and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her head as he realized what he had trapped her in. She did not know what to do, and although it was clear that she loved him very much and he had unknowingly and unwillingly punished her. Christine had given him her unconditional love but he had selfishly done to her what her kind had done to him. He had trapped her in his freakish world and now she wanted to go home but couldn't because of him and the vow she had made out of her foolish love for him.

She did not blame him for being the way he was but righty blamed him as he had taken her away from the perfect life she had once had and condemned her to this. He did not know what to say to her because she was right to be scared and if he were her he would be too, she looked down at her torn dress and tried to cover her exposed breasts. He shook his head and pulled her close as he noticed it was raining. He lifted her chin and kissed her soothingly before turning his face to the raining sky.

"Come on angel let's find somewhere to sleep tonight where you won't get sick." He said and turned her towards a street lamp where shop windows were dark.

Christine shook her head and followed her husband as the rain soaked her even with her umbrella. They walked and walked all night, until Christine felt her legs giving way underneath her and her eyes being weighted down by exhaustion and her children kicking endlessly because they wanted to rest and were punishing her for the over exertion. Erik caught her when she dropped to her knees on a stoop of a candy shop with an apartment above it and attached was a loft. Erik shook her shoulder but she just moaned and flopped on him.

"Chrissie angel you have to get up, we can't sleep here." He said feeling how soaked she was underneath her clothes.

"Mmm…Erik no… I'm too tired." She mumbled laying on him to be more comfortable.

"I know angel but we can't lay on someone's property." He said trying to lift her.

But it was no use Christine was already in such a deep sleep that her body was dead weight and when she fell on him she snored loudly. Erik sighed and curled up next to her and wrapped his arms around her soaked shivering body and just listening to the sounds of her sleep in this freezing night. Wishing he had something to keep her warm. He held her that night and finally felt his own snores coming up from his throat as his body gave into sleep. Just then the lights turned on inside and the door opened and a voice called gruffly out to them.

"Hello, who goes there?"

A quick note: **Hey people wow drama huh? Hey my birthday is in two days so how bout telling me how I did?**


	21. Chapter 20 The Kindness of Strangers

**Chapter 20**

**The Kindness of Strangers**

_Erik Mansart_

I heard the voice coming from behind the door, and for the first time in my adult life I began to panic. Whoever these people were they had better not hurt my angel she had been through quite enough for one day. The door opened and the man came out, he was massive, bigger than Hunchback and Crooked Jaw put together. He seemed at least nine feet tall and I thought I was tall at six feet two inches high, but compared to this man I was a dwarf. The newcomer was as big as a wall, and reminded me of Jack's giant from the fairytales I had read to Christine when she was a child.

He looked down at me and I froze as I recalled the altercation from earlier and if the back of my neck had the hairs a normal man's did they would have stood on end. I stared at him for a moment, looking up at the man in fear, if he was anything like those ruffians in the street I knew we were in serious trouble. I was strong there was no need to deny that but this man could snap me in half if he wished and worse he had a reason. We were on his property, and I was with a normal looking woman who was not accepted and treated as the outcast, and it was obvious that we had been there all night.

I did not know what would happen next but I hoped and prayed that he would not hurt us. I was too tired to wrestle giants and Christine was too pregnant to risk damaging the babies. Not that I cared…well I did but…oh hell I was in love with my children. The more I spent time with Christine and the happier she was with the idea of my children the more I wanted them to come. I found that those last days on the boat after she had saved me from taking my own life that I had made her have two lives with me and that they and she were totally and irrevocably mine.

She had spent the last day on the boat making me sit with her with my hand on her belly, feeling them move and tending her. I had spent just one day tending her, wrapping hot water cloths around her belly, and singing to them periodically when they rolled over in impatience for wanting attention. It was strange that in that one day when she had me taking care of her I fell so quickly in love with my children. Where I had dreaded their birth at first and only allowed her to keep them to make her happy I was suddenly eager for them to be here.

With them on the way and my wife and I on our way to start a new life together I had at last begun to feel like a normal man. But then yesterday happened and now I had the fear of a man who had something to lose. This was a new concept for me as I was used to fending for myself and knew myself to be no hero protecting the innocent and yet here I was stranded in a foreign land. I was here now and with me was not one, not two but three at least helpless people who needed me to protect them.

A responsibility I had never had and was unprepared for if I was to be completely honest with myself. No one had ever needed me before and much less in such a helpless way and even then my wife was seldom helpless. If anything she made me feel as humble a child with how strong she was even when faced with my instability and my demons. Christine was always there weathering it with a smile and a kiss not taking my orders for her to leave me but now she would pay for it. She should not be here with me, she should be at the Chagny château, with her boy and her feet tucked up by the fire.

Having all the luxury she wanted and preparing to have beautiful blonde-haired blue eyed children to carry the line. Christine should have been there with him, dreaming of her beautiful children with no chance of a deformity but still a chance of having the music from their mother and a certainty of good looks. Good looks, and comfort and wealth, why couldn't she be content with that?

But my Christine was a hopeless romantic who used her heart over her good sense. She was too stubborn to take comfort over true love. As much as I was in love with her for the first time I wished she had loved the boy as she claimed or at least hated me like she said. If she did not love the very least she could have done was not love me so much. If she had hated me even a little bit she might have staid warm and safe. If not then I should have been strong enough to send her away and lived with the knowledge that though we could never be together she loved me.

Oh how I wished I was strong enough to send her away but I was selfish and wanted to fulfill my own dreams rather than forcing her to choose the life that was best for her. Now that I think about it, I would have had to do the unthinkable and break her will too in order to make her listen. It would not have mattered what I said otherwise, my angel was far too stubborn when she wanted something bad enough. If she wanted me bad enough then she would have me and it did not matter the struggle or the consequences.

She had not thought about them when she had left me for the boy, and had not thought about them when she had returned. Christine never thought ahead and though I did not condemn her for much this was quite frankly the one thing about her I could not stand. I understand that she is only sixteen and her youth makes her more likely to fantasize about what she wants rather than analyze the situation but sometimes I really wished she would think her actions through before acting on them. If her youth was her excuse than what was mine? I am just as bad and do not have the youngness of adolescence to blame.

I was a grown man who had lived more than three-and-a-half decades on this wretched earth and yet I was irrational than she was. When she did not get her way she simply pursued the object of her desires till she achieved her goal. I had gone into such a rage that I had killed people, and nearly killed an important member of the aristocracy. I was so childish that I had literally thrown a killer tantrum, the only excuse I can give is my rage toward the world for treating me the way they did. When she had left me I thought that made me grow up and be man enough to let her go. I was wrong. It was clear to me now that I was just as bad as my wife, just as reckless and determined and irrational, it made me smile a little.

Christine lived in the moment and always had since the first time I had sent her to the stage. She thought nothing of the future and followed her heart even though her mind told her that she would regret it later. It seemed that when she had met me and supposedly fallen in love with her angel it had fostered not only her sexual awakening but fostered a spirit in her that none would expect of such a beauty. They would expect, as the Vicomte had, for her to be little Lotte. The sweet innocent child fond of dolls and chocolate and riddles of goblins and shoes, how I wished that I had kept her naive, innocent and not this stubborn strong headed wildcat.

Because now her stubbornness had gotten her hurt and she was homeless injured, freezing and pregnant. And because of that pregnancy she was naturally reverting back to her gentle nature. Now she needed me to protect her and our children in this odd land with a tinny language lacking in beauty, one I had only learned so I could read the great epics of William Shakespeare. She was rightly terrified and as she leaned on me for strength I knew that I would have to be the one to protect my family from all harm. Whether it is illness, childish fears or strangers, I had to keep them safe at any and all costs.

I was for the first time in my thirty-six years I was scared of my own inability to do so. More so now I was scared that this huge man would hurt them, and if that happened then everything would be over because I would murder the man on the spot. Then Christine would be left alone to fend for herself with the children where she didn't speak the language and was all alone. God only knew what would happen to her then as there was apparently only one profession meant for women of earthly beauty around here.

I cringed at the thought of my wife selling herself to these people who were after her for the status of having had sex with someone who wasn't deformed. It made me sick to my stomach at the thought of her making love to, no I grimaced making love implied that she loved the person she was coupling with and if it wasn't me then she did love them so she was not making love. What she was doing was far worse, what she was doing was _fornicating _with random men while my children waited crying for mother to come in at night.

A tear came to me eye as I thought of how bad this was, if we had sons they would learn that women were desperate whores. This would teach them to treat women poorly and then they would grow up to be abusive to women and not the proper gentlemen they should be. Worse yet, what if they were daughters and saw their mother doing these things, they would emulate her and good god only knows what would happen then if my daughters were joined in the oldest profession as their mother had been forced to do. For my children's sake I hoped that this man was friendly and that no violence occurred as I looked down at my sleeping wife who was snoring away into my soaking shoulder.

"Hello," the voice again and this time I spoke.

"Down here." I said and he bent his boulder of a bald head to look at us.

"What are you doing here?" He boomed.

"How did you know we were out here?" I asked.

"Well you woke us up, what with your leaning against the door you know." Grumped the giant, with a loud yawn, "Now I repeat for the last time what are you doing here."

"I'm sorry," I blathered. "My wife and I have no place to go and she's pregnant and…"

Just then as the huge man was about to speak and throw us off his porch I am certain another person came to the door. The newcomer was a short woman who would have been mistaken for a child if it were not for her endowments and full lips. I blinked and knew in that moment that I was looking at a midget something I had only seen in books and at the freak shows tossing one another high in the air as though they were toys. She was one of the people that was called, 'the human dollies' and were juggled by giant men like this for normal people's amusement.

Yet here they were, standing side by side living together in apparent peace and harmony as she smiled at him before jumping up on a sofa I saw out of the corner out of my eye. She giggled and took a running leap as she jumped up on the huge man's shoulders to get a better look before gasping and scurrying out to look at us like we were some great novelty or another. Christine woke up when she felt the tiny person's breath on her face and started at the sight of Giant Man guarding Midget from us, these strangers on the porch.

"Erik who are they?" Christine asked in French.

"Come again?" Giant Man boomed, raising his thick eyebrow.

"She wants to know who you are…" I said.

Midget clapped her hands gleefully, "I am Matilda but everyone calls me Fleck, my last name, and this is Fabious everyone calls him Squelch." she said in perfect French

"You can speak my language?" Christine asked.

"Of course I can!" she giggled, "Fabious can't though, big lug refuses to learn French." She slapped him playfully on the arm.

"Oof!" the man Squelch said, "Mattie must u hit me on the arm?" he said in English rubbing the spot.

Though it was clear that she did not understand his rubbing the hit place was enough to get the message across and Matilda laughed so hard she fell over. I had to smile, because the huge man had an ear to ear grin on his face as he raised his eyebrows at her. Christine looked up at me and smiled and I had to grin back because this was truly adorable to think that such a tiny person could injure such a huge hulking figure of a man. We knew it hadn't really hurt but the way he had asked the question was so childish as though he were talking to a baby.

"Aww look, the big bad giant got a boo-boo!" Matilda chortled in French.

He looked at me, "What did she say? He asked.

I recited what he said and Christine and I laughed but Fabious pouted with his large puffy lips and rubbing his arm pathetically. She laughed at him and kissed his arm, patting his arm before looking down at us again curiously. I was so tired and as cute as this was I did not want to be stared at, I wanted them to go back inside and leave us alone or call the authorities to take us away so I could sleep in either a cell cot or in my wife's arms. Preferably the first option but either one would do as long as they went the hell away.

But Christine sneezed hard and was still shivering and Matilda noticed the baby bulge growing inside her. She paled and pulled the door opened all the way to reveal a large sitting room with a cheerful blaze burning in the hearth. It looked warm and cozy and I wanted to take Christine inside and wrap her up with a steamy cup of tea. Feed her hot broth and make that sneeze go away, then another thing scared me, I had dropped our bags and belongings in that brawl and she had no dry clothes…forty-eight hours in those sopping clothes and she would surely catch her death.

For some reason being with her had made me weak in the heart and made the tears come almost on cue. I felt my eyes water as I thought of how sick she was going to get and how I had no money for a doctor. I had seen it happen before many times when a cold, left untreated became pneumonia or worse the consumption. If that happened I would surely lose her and with my bad health catch it as well and then the whole family would die, that meant that not only will I have taken Christine away from her comfort and put her in danger but killed her as well.

The thought made weep harder and Christine reached up to wipe her nose with her left hand and squeezed my right hand with her own. Fleck looked at me closer and her eyes were gentle as she disappeared into the house for a long time and then returned, as Squelch came forward and took Christine from my arms easily, she looked at me frantically and struggled a little but he overpowered her easily. The fear in her eyes was plain as day and I was not about to let this Neanderthal carry my wife off like that… oh god my worse fear was realized this man was a ruffian intending to carry her off and do god only knew what to my terrified angel.

Just as I was about to launch myself at the man the midget girl –Fleck- placed a hand on my knee and said softly, "It is all right, I told him to take her inside so she could lay down on a warm bed."

I was suspicious, "Why?" I asked slowly.

"Let's just say I've been in the same boat you have." She said and then taking one look at my exhausted face advised. "You should go with her and get some sleep."

I paused stunned by her generosity, "Oh…"

She mistook my pause for hesitation, "We only have one bed." She said apologetically.

I was at a loss for words, I finally stammered, "That's fine, thank you."

"No problem," she said, looking relieved "You shouldn't be on the streets at night with someone like her."

I nodded, remembering the way she had been treated yesterday and went to head to the room where I saw Squelch leaving her. Fleck followed me as I went into the dimly lit room where Christine lay and kissed her belly and her forehead. The shocked look on Fleck's face was not lost on me and I nodded answering the question in her eyes before flashing the rings. She nodded and then I noticed that Christine was naked on the bed and I turned to her angrily. How dare she allow that hulking man to undress my angel when she was ill and could not protest because we had nowhere to go…how dare he take such an unfair advantage of her.

Fleck noted where I was looking and shook her head, "don't worry," she said, "I got you a robe to put on her. Her dress was soaked and we had to get her out of it. I got you one too."

I raised my one eyebrow, "robes?" I echoed dumbly too tired to say much else.

"Yes 'robes' silly, there Squelch's I'd give her mine but I am too small."

I looked at the robes; they were both enormous, the size of gypsy circus tents. One was red the other white, I selected the white one for myself and carefully slipped my drowsy lover into the red. Fleck was watching us with teary eyes as Christine sleepily lay on my chest and kissed my heart. I smiled and tucked her under the blankets petting her head. She smiled and sank into the pillow, her poor back no doubt grateful for the softness of the mattress beneath her. Her eyes were closed again and Fleck smiled as Christine's breathing slowed.

"Good night angel." I whispered, then turning to Fleck I cleared my throat, "A little privacy please." I said as gently as I could.

"Oh." The tiny woman blushed, "of course," and scurried out of the room.

When I was certain she was well out of seeing distance I untied my slacks and dropped them, pulling my undergarments off because they were soaked through like my slacks. I did not feel entirely comfortable with my nudity in this stranger's house but I did not have a choice. If I left my underclothes on, sopping as they were I might get a rash. I stepped out in my pelt and got the huge robe, slipping into it and being instantly drowned in the white fabric as though it were the red sea. It was too big for me but it would have to do for now. I had to roll the sleeves six times to see my hands but it was dry and warm so I couldn't complain.

A loud boom came behind me and I turned to see it was Squelch knocking for entrance, "Come in." I said.

"Just came to get your clothes, they need to dry off." He said.

I nodded, hearing Christine finally snoring peacefully although the cough she had was something nasty already. I wanted nothing more to get into bed with her and hold her close while the world blacked out. But I had to wait while the man yawned and scratched his bald head, before turning to me with a curious look.

"Hey…" he said gently

"Hay is for stallions." I said and he laughed his huge belly shaking.

"You know our names but we don't know yours." He said,

I did not know whether to tell them my name as no one had ever asked me that before. But they had been so kind to us that I figured it was the least I could do. "Erik and Christine Mansart," I said.

He raised his eyebrows but did not question us, at least not yet, instead he said, "Nice to meet you Erik," he offered what I assumed was a smile; "you must be tired huh." I nodded and he smiled, "well good night then!"

That was the last thing he said to me that night, we shook hands and then he rather unceremoniously stomped up the hall. I heard him go into his room or wherever it was he slept and then silence, other than the closing of the door. After that the only sounds were those of the rain pattering the windows like the fingers of Poseidon, monotonous drumming that was somehow rhythmic and gentle at the same time. As if he were bored and creating some kind of makeshift percussion music to entertain himself, beautiful but endless in its entirety as it lead to nothing but back where it began. In the earth and clouds, stored away for the next time its master decided to entertain boredom.

That and my love's steadily rising snores. I sighed and climbed into the bed beside Christine, squinting at the clock and noticed it was 2 in the morning give or take three minutes. I wrapped my arms around her and sighed into her hair, drifting off to the sound of the driving rain. It seemed that for tonight at least my wife and I were safe and for a while we would be in the care of a kind stranger or two. But not for too long I hope, first thing tomorrow I shall find a job and get us some money and a place to live and raise our children. I will give her everything I could, but for tonight she was here with me where she belonged and the bed we were in was warm.

I snuggled closer to Christine's body and she sighed into my embrace, and for the first time I was reminded of an old bible story I had heard as a boy. The one about the Good Samaritan, who had saved that man when no one else would, perhaps Christine and I had stumbled on our own Samaritans on this stormy night. I yawned feeling myself relax; tomorrow I would worry about these Samaritans and their motives for helping us. There would be time enough tomorrow to worry over people and responsibilities.

But just as I was about to drift off I was stirred, "Erik?" it was Christine, calling to me as though she had been woken up by a thought.

"Hmm…what is it?" I asked groggily.

"Are we…safe?" she asked her voice thick with sleep too.

"Mmm-hmm…angel…go…asleep." I muttered. "We…need…go…sleep."

She laughed gently and kissed my nose before settling into my arms and closing her tired eyes again. I put my chin protectively over hers and allowed myself to drift off; there would be time to talk in the morning. Christine sighed and fitted closer to me, as long as she was by my side she was safe and we were both too sleepy to worry anymore tonight. So I let my mind go blank, not thinking about how even though we had found shelter for the night we were still technically homeless and had children on the way. Not thinking about everything I had been through or the challenges that lie ahead for us. I concentrated only on keeping my angel comfortable and decided for tonight I would sleep well. And what a well-deserved sleep it would be.


	22. Chapter 21 A Fresh Start

**Chapter 21**

**A Fresh Start**

_Christine Mansart_

When I woke up I was lying in a strange bed in a room I didn't recognize. It seemed I had a bad habit of waking in the beds of strange people. First Erik and now whoever these people were. Not to be cruel but I did not remember much of what happened last night. All I knew was I had a stuffy nose, my throat hurts like hell and I am freezing. Although I am no doctor I can recognize the signs of a cold or influenza. If I had either one than this was going to be one mess of a week, and it was not looking too great as it is.

I had not known that it was possible to become ill after one night in the rain. It had never happened to me before and I had spent long days in the rain with my father and never once became sick. But father had told me that I must be very careful if I were ever to be impregnated because my immune system would be compromised. Surely being in these cold clothes and in the rain had caused me to become rapidly ill. That was not good for either me or my children and I hoped to God it was nothing too serious. Anything stronger than a cold could be detrimental to my children. It could cause my body to abort the fetuses in order to expel the virus.

But whatever it was, it was nasty enough and I wanted it to go away the moment I became aware of the symptoms. My body felt achy all over and I let out a yawn that would have made a lioness order me back into bed. It was interrupted by a loud hard cough that rocked me where I stood. Groaning I stumbled towards a corner and curled up in a ball there. Squeezing my eyes shut I tried to sleep against the wall, but it was so uncomfortable. I looked at the bed a few feet away. It looked so welcoming and soft but to crawl to it would be too much effort in my current state. Instead I lay down on the floor, my head resting on the rug.

"Erik…" I rasped, but it was no good.

My voice was barely audible in its current state and even with his incredible hearing it would be hard for Erik to catch this. Bile rose in my throat and I belched up a bunch of sick-fluid. I reached over, my arms weak and painful as I knocked over a chair. It fell with a resounding crack, and Erik jolted awake. He looked stunned, blinking a couple times and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. I coughed again and he looked down. I did not see his expression because I blacked out and ended up collapsing in my own vomit.

"Oh my God Chrissie, oh angel…" I heard him running to me.

"Mmm…sick…" I moaned.

Erik was shaking me but all I could manage was to moan and lift my head a little to look at him. He put his arms around me, and lifted me up to his chest. He kissed my lips, despite their throw-up and carried me to bed. I sunk into the bed where he tucked me in, kissing me on the head and holding me close. I felt like a child needing my father, the same way I had on the boat. As much as I couldn't stand being helpless right now I was powerless to do anything about it. Erik brushed his lips over my head and that was it.

I blacked out for I don't know how long, all I knew was my snoring resounded like a continuous rumble in my plugged ears. It was bright outside when I fell asleep but when I woke up it was cold and dark. I was relieved to find myself in a warm bed in a peaceful dark room in order to soothe my pounding head. Though the chill of the darkness was torturous on my fever-chilled body and my eyes ached. I forced them open and turned my head, squinting in the darkness to see my husband. I could just see him through the light pooling in the hallway. It was dim and small from a lantern but adequate enough so I could see him.

My heart broke at the sight of him lying exhausted beside me in this gigantic bed. He was passed out cold; too tired to even wrap his arms around me, limp as a washrag. I ran my fingers under his eyes that were darkened a little from the sickness of too-little rest. I knew it was not a good idea to be so close to him when I was sick but I just had to kiss the man for doing all that he did for me. It seemed that he was the most forgiving and sweetest man in the world. I had literally torn his beating heart straight from his chest and he had still allowed me back into his life.

Not only that but he had given me the power to heal him or destroy him all over again. It seemed no matter how many times I hurt him he would be there when I needed him. I had done everything possible to make this better. Marrying him was no trouble; consummation was not a problem either. The rockiest part had been my pregnancy but even then, though he was terrified of the idea. He had allowed me to keep the children and forced himself to be the man he was scared to be. Now he was taking care of me, despite his fragility when it came to his health knowing full well he might catch it.

As I watched him sleep I felt tears coming to my eyes, wondering how in the world he could love me after everything I've put him through. All the rejection and the infidelity, the torment he had been through on my behalf. True we weren't married at the time so to say I was unfaithful was a bit overdramatic. But to leave the one who loved me the most should have been a worse sin than infidelity. Worse than being unfaithful to a husband I did not love, in order to have the lover I adored. Women who took lovers were at some point forgiven, because with that husband, I could at the very least claim unhappiness.

But when I had consciously chosen to leave the love of my life and then complained of misery it would be my own fault. The worst part was what I thought I had driven him to, the thought that I had killed him. I could not believe that he loved me so much that he drove himself mad. So mad that the mere sight of that home by the lake where we had shared so many memories broke his heart. He'd run away to a lonely home where he had clearly intended to die, recreating his pain in the hopes that someday I may come back to him.

Erik had made me a dress more beautiful than the last knowing full-well that I might never see him again. Everything he had given me was based on the hope that I would love him as much as he did me. It made me weepy to think of how much he adored me and I had nearly married someone else because of nostalgia and silly girlish dreams. No amount of familiarity was enough to throw away true love. For him to say I thought more of money and looks then what was in his heart was the worst thing he could have ever said to me.

But he had the right to feel that way because it was only logical. Raoul was everything that most girls would want in a man. He was wealthy, handsome, and charismatic and compared to Erik who was poor and aging. There was no reason for me to not want Raoul and for a while I did but then he was just so loving and attentive and utterly dull. Everything was so carefully planned, even when he kissed me it was as if he was afraid to go too far. Never losing control and if that was how he kissed me just imagine how uninspired his lovemaking would be.

He would be gentle and careful, allowing me to be in control, telling me to let him know when to come. I would have too much control to the point of where he was allowed to touch me. It would be slower than molasses because he would be too gentle, his strokes too shy so that it was boring when he finally did climax. I had heard of women who faked their ending pleasures in the marital bed. That would have been me if I had married Raoul, the dutiful Madame De Chagny always pleasing her man.

That to me would be so dreadfully dull and the affection he had for me would be little compensation. I found it thrilling that Erik could be my master in the bedroom, that he could actually cause me physical pain but still make me shiver. His kisses were loving but not careful, they could be forceful and rough too. He kissed me the way we both enjoyed but the way he would be in control. I had no say in the ways we made love; it was based completely on my trusting him. Which I did and that made it both surprising and enjoyable. Much better than the dutiful sex a life with Raoul could give me I am sure.

The thought of the simple love and cushy life that Raoul had to offer me after the passion and adventure Erik had shown me was so unattractive to me nowadays. I was beginning to question the good sense with which I ran my life. It was apparent that not only was I insatiably curious but I had a passion for dangerous men. Neither of these were good traits when it came to my safety, but then my choice in men was not much better. I found the more time I spend by my husband's arms and around him it drove the need for safety away from me.

That was why I had taken off from Raoul's warm embrace back to Erik's though I had feared that it had been too late, because no man in his right mind would love a woman who had scorned him. But my Erik was not like most men and though a genius was a fool when it came to love. Not that I had any more sense than he did with matters of the heart. I had found out that he was far too weak when it came to me the same way I was with him. It seemed even when he had injured my heart the only thing he had to do was wrap his arms around me and then it was over. He knew it too and that's why he put his heart back in my hands to keep or destroy.

I lay in my husband's arms and tried to remain wrapped in my sleep. But my children wanted me to get up and so I did, running around looking for the water closet and finding no luck. I felt my children becoming restless. That was defiantly not good and I placed my hand on my stomach trying to settle them down. I rubbed my belly usually this calmed them down. But it was no good. This was unfortunate because my children kept kicking. I tried to find a door to outside and was again thwarted in my efforts. I felt my stomach rising in my throat and I knew I had to find a door before I got sick again.

My eyes discovered all around me was a living room where our hosts were sleeping in the furniture. The two of them were laying deeply in sleep with the midget on his gigantic chest. He was snoring louder than Erik and I combined. In fact to be honest it sounded more like the roar of a bear. One that was deep in hibernation at that. But the woman seemed completely accustomed to the sound and looked as peaceful as a child. It was an adorable sight, and I felt a need to cover them. There was a small blanket on the chair and I used it to cover the sleeping beast and the dwarf.

In the corner of the room, was a smoking ashtray. The smell of smoking, overused tobacco was filling the room. I had always hated the smell of tobacco. It reminded me of the fire that burned my house down when I was little. It smelled like those evil flames, the ones that took mama away from me when I was six and broke my daddy's heart. It made me feel sick and my stomach turned so violently that I wretched and bile came out before I could clap my hand over my mouth. The sour fluid poured out of my mouth making me gag even more. I ended up retching so loud that I ended up waking one of our hosts.

The poor little woman whose name I could not remember at the moment came rushing out with big concerned eyes. She looked very tired and I gestured for her to go away but instead she put the wastebasket beneath my chin and I threw up more. The woman was too short to hand it to me and I was too shaky to pick it up. So I went to my knees and gripped it. I hadn't eaten anything and it was amazing to me that my body could still reject contents that weren't there. She patted my back as I was down at her level.

"You poor thing, "she told me.

"I am sorry I woke you." I whimpered as my back began to ache.

"Oh nonsense my dear I was wondering when you were going to wake up." She said gently.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked.

"Almost two days, you must be very tired." She said, softly so as not to wake the giant.

"I am ill and pregnant, I threw up…my husband put me into bed and then…I must've passed out." I said apologetically.

"That man is your husband?" she asked curious.

"Y-yes is that bad?" I stammered, not knowing how she was going to react.

"Oh no, you are free to marry whomever you wish." She said, "Still it is rather strange."

"Ugh would everyone please quit saying that!" I snapped without meaning to.

"Forgive me Ms. Daaë." She said and I spun around to look at her,

"What…did you just call me?" I asked softly.

"You don't remember me why should you, I was merely a costume girl who handled your dainty shoes." She looked down.

I frowned thinking hard then I finally said, "Mattie Fleck…"

She had indeed been my shoe-attendant at the opera, making sure my ballet slippers were neat and clean. I looked up at her and noticed she was crying a little, as I remembered her cleaning and dusting my little shoes and wishing me a good morning. Of course she had been the same for everyone there and I had been just a child. But still it was amazing that she remembered me all this years later. Did all oddities have this supernatural memory or something? She had left, sometime before I turned ten and I had not heard from her since. I wondered where she was as she was my first friend there, but had allowed her to fade from my memory over time.

"Of course I remember you, but what-how-why?" I had too many questions.

Fleck laughed gently and hugged me, "It's all right that you forgot me Christine."

"I did not mean to." I looked down at my lap.

She shook her head and kissed me on the head, I felt so sick and tired that I wanted to go back to sleep. But I was feeling selfish for wanting to when it would wake Erik and he needed his rest. Mattie lifted me to my feet and dragged me to the sofa, putting me in the armchair where my head lulled on my neck. Sleep was weighing down my eyelids but I could not allow it to take yet when my old friend was sitting here trying to take care of me. I tried to focus on her and managed to turn my head as she perched herself on the arm of the chair.

"I had to leave because Carlotta complained about the midget running about." She said; I rolled my eyes, typical of her. "But I kept up with the news of you because Madame Giry she sent me copies of the Époque."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yes," she said brightly, "I knew all about your stardom, the catastrophe, and your engagement." Mattie's eyes knew, serious.

"Oh… I see well Erik and me…" I stopped how to explain the fact that I had married my tormenter rather than the aristocrat.

"Why you married him is a story for another time." Mattie said gently, "you should sleep some more so your fever abates."

She threw a light living room blanket over me, poured some awful tonic down my throat and turned off the light. I shook my head, my eyes closed and I allowed myself to drift off as I heard Mattie quietly leaving the room. I caught the heartfelt look on her face as she looked soulfully at the giant roaring on the couch. I smiled; it seemed that Erik and I were not the only ones in love here or the only ones trying to make a fresh start here in America.

**A/N: If you are enjoying this story then check out "The Grandson" my latest story.**


	23. Chapter 22: Heaven on Earth

**Chapter 22: Heaven on Earth**

Erik woke up and rubbed his eyes, his body ached because he had slept too much. It seemed that he had sunk into the bed and the fabric had adhered to his spine. Erik groaned and got up, noticing that the bed was empty. He worried a little because the last he had known his wife was asleep beside him. As she had been for the past couple days, and he never noticed her moving, which was odd for him to say the least. It was unlike him to not notice when she moved in the bed beside him, rough sleeper that she was. Christine often hit him lightly in her dreams and though it did not hurt him, it woke him a little.

The fact that he had been able to rest so deeply was puzzling to him and first off where the hell was his wife? But then the sound of singing floated to his ears, the jewel song from Faust. He smiled, and went to the front room where she was sitting knitting something or other. Erik could not believe how beautiful she looked sitting in that chair, with her belly swollen and a piece of needlework in her lap. She looked peaceful, calm and relaxed as the smells of cooking wafted to his nose, and he looked around the room to see his wife had been making him his favorite food.

He couldn't believe that she had been able to cook for him, what with her swollen belly making her ill and tired. But she had and then knit things but he supposed this was what normal expectant wives did. They cooked and cleaned and made baby garments. Erik went to the table where his blackberry crepe and Russian tea were waiting; he knew that no one else made them because only she knew to use brown sugar instead of white. It made him smile to think of how normal she appeared and how perfect this moment was.

Erik never wanted to wake up from this dream. Surely this must be some dream and he must still be asleep. That was the only explanation he could think of for this perfect moment. He was asleep in his underground lair and had been for months. Erik was certain he was asleep in his coffin and dreaming, sure that he would wake up and be cold and alone as he always had been. But no…that was impossible as no one could sleep for months straight. He knew for a fact and many hours of reading that though it was possible to stay awake for week, it was impossible to sleep for more than two days at a time.

The human body could not sleep for extended periods because it required nourishment and exercise of both the physical and mental. But if he wasn't sleeping than there was only one other option and it did not surprise him. Erik knew that he was not awake, and that he was dead at last. He was dead and in hell where he would be tortured for all eternity for the sins he had so heinously committed. It did not frighten him and he smirked inwardly as he realized he had been right, hell was far better than his life, or was it?

He had always imagined the fiery pit of legends that his mother had warned him of. That place where he would burn with the fires and it would be nothing but endless pain. Erik never imagined that hell would be like this. So beautiful, so warm and welcoming giving him everything he ever wanted…and then taking it away. He had heard men of the church talking about how personal eternal damnation could be but he never knew that it would be this bad. As Erik had grown he had known he was destined for the outer darkness and never ending abyss.

Erik thought that perhaps a repeat of the horrors of his past, or an endless show of them might be his punishment. But not quite this personal, not to see everything he ever wanted before him and just out of his reach. Forever, out of his reach but the image would always be there in his mind. He watched her, heard her humming some sort of children's tune and dozing off in her seat. He looked down at the food, sneering and wondering what Persephone's pomegranate is like. The man wasn't about to find out, if this was hell than the food was demonic and he tossed the plate over, crying.

It landed with a resounding clatter and the food went all over the floor. He did not notice the yelp that Christine gave as he went into the room and slammed the door with a loud bang and locked himself in. Darkness swarmed him, calmed his mind the way it always did, whispering that it would hide his face and heart from this cruel world. He took comfort in it (little though it may have been) as he closed his eyes where the image of Christine haunted the backside of his eyelids and he shook his head vigorously to no avail. The image would not let him be and he let out a groan, slamming his fist through the vanity mirror.

He heard the crunching chink of the glass and felt the hot, wet blood gush from his balled fist. It trickled down his palm and ran down his arm, dripping onto the wooden floor to form a sizable crimson puddle. Erik looked at his reflection in the blood with a grim smile of satisfaction as he tore off his mask and used it to mop the blood so that the white silk was spattered. He put it back on his face, feeling it stick to his skin with the drying plasma. He clenched his fist, hissing as the glass sliced his skin. But even the pain (his other companion) was no solace to him anymore.

Erik sighed and sat down heavily on the bed; if he must be in hell then he would serve his sentence on his own terms. In absolute solitude where he would not have to see this vision, he would allow his spirit to rot away into nothingness. His torment would fade as he did and that would be the end of it. Surely hell was not forevermore; surely even eternity had an end and he would be grateful when that end came. Until then he would ride out this nightmare in the silent comfort of solitude, embraced by absolute darkness. But then as fate would have it, God in his sick humor sent the voice of his love coming through the door.

"Erik dear are you all right?" she asked.

"Go away…" he groaned.

"Erik?" she said, "hold on I am coming."

For some reason, Erik was unsure why this was, he expected her to leave him in peace but instead he heard the jiggling of the lock. He groaned, forgetting that he was dead for a moment and wondered how she learned to pick a lock. But this was hell so the demons could do whatever they liked. Erik did not intend to look at her or 'it' as the case may be, but when he turned to face the fiery bane of his existence he saw Christine standing there. She was right in front of him looking both concerned and mildly annoyed, and still stunningly beautiful as he had always remembered she was.

The frown on her face, coupled with her hands on her hips was adorable and just the mere sight of her hurt him. He had never thought that a demon could be so beautiful, but he supposed that even fallen angels retained their beauty. Satan himself had after all. It was stated in the bible that he was too beautiful to lay mortal eyes on. Whether he was a god-fearing man or not he now knew that the bible was real because he was in hell looking at a demon. Erik wondered if he was in the presence of Lilith herself and if she was laden with the antichrist. She was in this form the most tormenting thing he'd ever seen and he began to cry.

"Erik what's the matter… Oh my god you are bleeding!"

She reached for him and he recoiled like a caged animal, "No… no please no."

"Darling you are injured, look at you, the mirror…oh sweet Jesus, you broke the mirror on your hand why?

"I am dead and in hell…" he sobbed.

"What on earth, Erik how many days was I sick and how long were you up?" she laughed at him.

"It's not a laughing matter, but then I suppose to hell-spawn it is a cause for hilarity."

"Hell-Spawn, Erik Léopold Mansart what on earth… are you ill?" she asked softly, feeling his forehead.

"No!" the scream that tore from his throat was the heart-wrenching one that had turned her stomach.

"Erik…would you just calm yourself?" She crooned.

"No, I will not calm myself!" he shouted, "be gone with you."

Christine, not knowing what else to do hit him on the side of the head, causing Erik to blink, "What the hell is wrong with you today, first you spill your breakfast, you're welcome by the way…"

"You will not poison me!" he shouted.

"Now you're rambling like a madman," groaned his wife.

"I'm not rambling; I will not be tricked by some hell spawn who takes the form of a gentle woman to torment me…"

"What?" she blinked, and then reached up gently placing her cool hand on his head. "You are slightly warm I do hope that you are not ill."

"How can the dead be ill?" he moaned, clutching his head.

"Erik for the love of Jesus you are not dead…I think you should go lie down. You are clearly unwell."

"Of course…you would say that so the cycle can repeat itself with this torment."

She rolled her eyes to hide the cracking in her heart, she knew the man was unstable but this was ridiculous. He was not dead and this was not hell, Christine sat down next to him and rubbed little circles in his back. Christine kissed him on the mouth, and he gasped in a mixture of sobbing and shock. She kept it up pressing her body close to him, Erik wept as she pushed his lips his lips apart with her tongue. Christine took advantage of his open mouth and plunged her tongue to the back of his throat, running it along his teeth and the roof of his mouth.

He put his hands, palm open on her shoulders the way he had done when she hugged him that horrible night. His rigid form and unrelenting stubbornness was enough to drive her mad, and when she pulled away he dropped his head down so that he was gazing at his lap. There were tears in his watery eyes and those malformed lips trembled. His chin was wrinkled on the face, the way the skin does when one is crying, and he let out a long scream again. Retreating from her the way he used to do, it was almost like he was reverting back to the way he used to be.

Before they were in love, before she had taken those vows before God and her father-in-law. It was as if we were back in the cold cellar beneath the opera, strangers afraid of their own emotions. Erik was acting afraid to kiss her, touch her and would not meet her eyes. She reached up and made him look at her, stifling the urge to both recoil and cry out in terrified pain. It both broke her heart and scared her at the same time. She had never seen such a terrible appearance on the man and it wasn't his face that frightened her, rather the look in his raindrop eyes.

It was the look a wounded animal might give an untrusted rescuer when being coaxed to safety. His face was frightened and had tears in his eyes, she sighed knowing it was going to be one of those days when she worried about his mental state. Still she thought she had better try to get to the bottom of this mess before he got any worse. He had been known to get worse before he got better and she hadn't seen him this upset since she had removed his mask. And that was a suicidal, homicidal mess that she did not want to deal with in her current condition.

"Erik would you tell me what the matter is," she coaxed, "please?"

"I'm dead, and this is my own personal hell, where everything I have ever wanted is shown to me and nothing I can ever have!" he lamented.

"Darling look at me," she cooed, "I love you and I do not know what is going on in your head…but I want to help you so please talk to me."

"My life has been so awful that it just seems so perfect now, it's not real, and it cannot be real." he sobbed.

"Erik, dearling look at me, we are married and I am here with you…we are going to have children and they will be musical and brilliant just like you." She whispered.

The floodgates opened then and he cried as though her gentle reminder of how wonderful his life is was enough to break him. He leaned forward on his knees and sobbed loudly; Christine made a gentle tisk-tisk sound and pulled him close. Christine shifted him so that he laying his head on her lap. Her blue eyes met his silver ones and she looked at him gently, wiping the tears away as she thought of how childlike he looked. How innocent and frightened he looked, like a little boy when she knew he was a powerful man able to command, murder and love, terrified of his goodness and the future she and him were creating.

She removed the mask and headpiece from him, stroking the deformity. He was so beautiful, so powerful and so fragile when it came to her. He looked at her from her lap with the most ardent devotion, and when he captured one of her hands and brought it to his lips. Christine leaned down and kissed his mouth, tasting his tears and his love all at once. He deepened it, and she felt even in her pregnant condition that fire boiling up in her belly to settle between her legs. But she knew her body was in no condition to make love to him right now, the traditional way that is.

Christine got up and knelt down in front of him, her eyes smoky as she ran her hands over his legs and pulled open the robe. His cock was already half ready and she ran her nails along the inside of his legs. He shuddered, her nails scraped the sides of his thighs and he rose, until his manhood was waiting for her at taught attention. She then lowered her mouth to him, and he groaned as her tongue licked the bead of his head. Erik groaned and shook; he did not ever let a woman do this to him, ever, and he had never thought Christine would be doing this.

He should stop her, he knew she was too good for this but he couldn't bring himself to say no to her. Her mouth was just so warm, wet and soft on him and he needed this right now. He needed to be loved right now and she knew it. She kissed him there in ways that he wished she would on his mouth and he leaned back on the bed. He could feel himself coming and he knew he should pull out and not make her swallow it, making a baby was one thing, but feeding her his seed just seemed wrong to him.

"I am going to release angel you have to let go now…" he groaned.

"Shh, release it's all right," she said into his flesh.

Erik just felt himself letting go at her words and she held his hips while he finished into her mouth. He groaned and bucked into her the same way he always did. She sighed and let him go inside her his hips bucking into her mouth. It came out of him whether he wanted it to or not. Erik forgot all his reservations about what was right and wrong as she allowed him his relief. The small part of his mind that still considered her too pure for this sort of thing was hazy and diminishing to nothingness. He had never felt something like this before and it felt so damn good.

He heard a popping sound and came full force before she pulled away, wiping her mouth. Erik looked at her, tears in his eyes and he stood up, sliding the flaps of her robe open and he lowered her down to the bed. She groaned as he went down on her, his tongue persistent and his hands making love to her breasts until her eyes rolled back in her head. Erik was enjoying himself as he finished her off, leading her to a climatic ending where she screamed and rocked into him.

"Mmm…Erik, Erik…" his hand had now slipped to the inside of her crotch, and she was screaming.

"Tell me what you want Christine…" he whispered as he gave her a long lick from her belly to her breasts.

"Kiss me!" she panted and pulled him forward to smash their heads together as she climaxed from the last of his touch.

"Oh God, Christine I love you…" he murmured into her neck.

"I love you too…just stay calm for me."

"I'm so sorry; I do not mean to go out of my senses." He was crying.

"Shush Erik it is all right let's just close our eyes for a little while, our hosts are out and won't be back till dark." She mumbled, snuggling into him.

Erik yawned and kissed her head, before lowering his head to her belly and kissing her navel. "Mmm… goodnight angel," he said.

She smiled at him, kissing his chin, before fitting herself right where she belonged in his arms, amazed that they still fit around her swollen belly as big as it was. Christine turned her head, looking at his face as deformed as it was and marveled at just how right she felt in this man's arms. He had been frightened that this joy she felt with him was some illusion of Hell to torture him but he did not understand things. Not the way she did. He had been born and brought up in Hell, but he was never going to have to go through that again.

Christine shifted and looked down at his face, propped up on one elbow she kissed his slightly parted lips. He fell asleep as her lips closed over his and she laid her head over the steady beating of his heart. Her children kicked her, once and then twice to show that they were there and she closed her eyes. She rubbed her belly lightly, small circles the way she had seen Erik do when she had trouble sleeping on the boat. The kicking slowed to nothing and she managed to relax, her muscles cracking and popping as she stretched her tired limbs.

"Goodnight children…goodnight Erik…" She said as she fell asleep.

The young woman had not rested so well as she had that night in years, she had no fears or worries for that moment. It was just her and her lover, lying in one another's arms after they made love. Both she and Erik had been through hell, difficult childhoods where they had been left alone and abandoned in this cruel world. Lost and unloved as they had been, relying on the kindness of strangers to get by. She an orphan and he so badly beaten that he had become little more than a wounded animal, maddened by his pain and ready to do anything to be made into a normal man.

He had even been ready to kill for her love and she had broken his heart and she, not having dealt with her own inner demons had driven him to that point. Her own inner demons from when she had lost her father had made her weak. Christine knew he had been broken down and that their love nearly destroyed them both. But no matter what they did or had done she knew that she did not regret a single moment of it. The hell that they had put one another through had left them where they were now, in heaven. Whatever Hell they had come from, in each other's arms they had found Heaven on Earth.


	24. Chapter 23 Human Nature

**Chapter 23**

_Human Nature_

Fleck's POV

Everything has a different side to it, good and evil in all things but then there is the hidden side, Take for instance, the image of a coin, its front possesses a man's face (in rare cases a woman) and the back some sort of other picture. But then there is the third side, the one around the edges, invisible except when flipping and even then passing in a blur of vibrating silver. The third side is what we all must learn to see, when looking at everything in this life. Even to the moonlight for behind its light lies the greatest secret of all. Moonlight, silence and most of all music are the most human things in this world for there is invisibility to all things. The third side is the most vulnerable for it is translucent, almost see-through because no one bothered to see. It is the hidden side of the human nature we show only to our most intimate partners. It is the one we guard in our inner heart of hearts. In the world where human nature is cheapened by a person's materialistic nature, everything from money to sexual lust can injure the purity of the translucent side. For that side is their soul, the side people cannot tell by looking at the nakedness of the human flesh. For even the ugliest man can have a beautiful soul.

There is darkness to every side of the moon, behind the pale light where the sun cannot reach. It is the side of the moon that changes with night and day. Where it glows brightly to the sight of one side of the world it is in shadow where the other has the brightness of the daylight. Just like with light there was the silence of sound, the one that comes after the noise itself. The awkward quit after the anger or the stillness after the final thump of the executioner's drum when the stick had struck its final thud on the skin. But the most prominent silence is one of anticipation, the gasp in a crowd when the magician does his greatest trick for the big finale.

But then there is the second side the one that holds the hidden music of the night beneath it, the silent side. The kind when the clunk of a trapdoor signaling the use of the hangman's noose, but there was no silence worse than that of the bells. It is a silence of music in the night, when the bells signify the waking hour every hour, like a low yawn in the late hours. It tolled for every hour depending on its age, signaling the death and rebirth of a day the way a phoenix would when it rises again from the ashes. One of blackness or gold, good or evil in its own right… a good or bad day will dawn with the unquestionable toll of the bells.

Ringing either in the joy or the sorrow of whatever people decided to feel about the turn of the sky. There are three ways to see the world and our world is a dark one where the bell tolls endlessly for the woe of mankind. But Ask not for whom the bell tolls, for it tolls for thee. In the shadows of the night rests the burden of the tell-tale heart when it beats with the blood of love unrequited. Love was a gentle creeping thing as it stole into the hearts of people the way music and stories did into the normal mind. Dulcet and gentle are the tones of music, ringing out in an ominous count. Bing, bong, two notes pulled twice by an invisible hand named the wind for it gently caresses the bell-pull. As if coaxing it to sing a song only it can understand because only it can take the time to really listen to its cry. And what a cry it is! The cry of music too beautiful to be heard by human ears, for to them it sounds only of aimless noise only there to mark the time of evening to the night for no one was ever keen to listen. And so the music falls on deaf ears of those who are captured in their lives.

It is in that music where the human minds are the most touched and where they can feel the force of a fear so beautiful that it hides in the shadows. True beauty, one found in music when the poorest soul finds something to live for. But at this hour rests the greatest power, the power of the deafening silence right after the toll of the bell. Music has hushed gently to the cover of silence in the night. Whispering to the deep feelings that the people were too shy to convey to others unless in pure isolation and only to the inner blackness of. No one is exempt from the secrets of the heart and no one can run from them.

There is indeed a sound to silence that tends to be louder than the noise of the human world seemingly asleep in the senses and the torment of the shadows in the dark and what loudness to the empty emotions of the world. There is a strange quality in silence. Dark and gentle, like a whisper of a traitorous lover in the far reaches of the night, both comforting and secretive all at once. With hands that hold and hide the secrets of those who whisper to it, either of love or of sinful desires too naughty to be voiced. There in the silent darkness, people release their sins, secrets and darkest thoughts. It happened whether they liked it or not, the darkness could do whatever it liked because along with the shadow comes the sleep and with the sleep comes the dreams.

In dreams there are no boundaries, the mental and the physical are meshed to where they are entwined with the fantastic and the terrifying. They can go from beautiful to hellish in a moment just like the night itself. Dreams and shadows come in darkness with the whisper of passionate music that only those who take the time to listen can hear, soft and caressing in the lightning of the candlelight. Music was deceiving when it came before the storm of desires to break forth in a sorrowful fog. It comes like the calm after a storm, when the lightning dissipates into the darkness of the blue sky coated in black.

Just before the thunder comes the flash, and before the flash becomes white. Then after the light and the boom, comes the rain…those tears of the earth to make everything beautiful again. But my dreams as of late have not been beautiful, for I have my own sins to confess to the evening night. Here in the garden of the little flat mama and I own I wait, waiting for the night to call to him as only it could. He never sleeps at night nowadays as my desires for the sounds of the music that only he can hear and he makes that music in the deepest part of the city all alone in the far-reaches of the night

As the notes pour from his hands the way water does from the hands of a man trying too tightly to hold it in his fingers. He, Erik Mansart was the greatest composer of all time. He had written the greatest operas of all time, made the world a more interesting place and now was in my home. Showing us the third side of him, the human side where he is little more than a man with a tortured broken soul and I would come to find so much more when I walked into my flat.

I came home with my giant from the candy store down stairs to see the couple asleep on the bed. They had their arms wrapped around one another as she slept in his arms. She was very pregnant and looked so fragile in his arms it was almost heartbreaking. I did not know what to do when they had arrived at my door and the man had told me that they had nowhere else to go. I knew allowing them to stay in my home was a dangerous thing in these parts. When an oddity harbors a normy it is not taken lightly by society any more than if it were reversed.

We were not to harbor those who hated us and if we did it was all the worse for us and those who were close to us. The punishments for those who helped the normies were anything ranging from minor death threats to full-blown public executions on the piers. And those were not any laughing matter that was for certain, being shoved off the docks into the sea or even burned at the stake. Worst of all were the hangings in the square where people laughed at you and mocked you before ending your life in a most painful manner.

It is a truly barbaric world in which we live on both sides of the fence. In these so called enlightened ages it is a very dark world that we have created. Just as they torture us we torture them, leaving a frightened pregnant woman alone in the cold springtime night when the rain poured down. She was soaked, shivering and would soon catch her death and yet despite this no one was offering to help her. Well her and the man who was holding her as though he feared we would take her out of his arms and do something harmful to her.

Which, of course we had no intention of doing but he still needed to be convinced. The look on his face was one of absolute terror when Fabious answered the door. He appeared, not only utterly exhausted and soaked but terrified despite the oddity status he clearly possessed as evident by the mask. It was her he was terrified for. Not that this really surprised me, because in these parts physical beauty was seen as little more than an unforgivable curse. Something to be pitied or even scorned, they were not welcome here as we were not welcome in their world.

So I took the risk and allowed this couple to come into our home because really they are no less human than Fabious and I are. It made us no better to discriminate against them because when we made them suffer it only proved that we were just as bad. I had learned that people were people back in France when the very woman who was asleep in my bed now had shown me such kindness. I had known that she was only a child but still it was that sweetness and that innocence in her that made me realize how special she was. There was a long and tiresome conversation with him that night after they had fallen asleep. Tiresome and wonderful, although it hadn't started out that way.

"We could be killed," Fabious had warned me in broken French.

"But these poor people, they-"I pleaded.

"Aren't our responsibility…"

"But-"

"No buts! If she is found here do you know what might happen to us?" he hissed.

"There is no law against helping people Fabious." I replied.

"No not _our people,_ but you know the law in these parts against people like her!" he said seriously.

He was right of course. In these parts those born with what 'civilized' society called beautiful was considered just the opposite. They were the ones considered ugly; they were the freaks in our world. Their men were our servants and their women were well considered less than that. The women who lived here were prostitutes with no respect and mere fodder for young men with a dollar or less in their pockets. They were worth less than a dollar the more beautiful they were and many of them were homeless beggars and eating out of trashcans or stale bread from the grocer throwing out old scraps. Those of us who took in the normies even for one night were looked down on and some had even been hurt or killed. But what was I to do? I could not leave the poor woman on the street in her condition especially when I saw her bleeding lip. I knew it had already begun and that things might get worse if she and her husband remained left to fend for themselves. All those bad things, the prostitution, the homelessness and eventually painful death, that might have been her fate and as for him it would be the torment of watching her die and not be able to do anything about it.

"I know, I know but-"

"Stop saying but Mattie, they could kill you, us and I…" he stopped cold.

"You what?" I prompted, softly.

"Nothing, it's—it's nothing."

It wasn't till that moment that I realized he was speaking French, "When did you learn French."

"I've been practicing, because I…" He trailed off again.

"What…" I pleaded, "Come on tell me."

"Please Mattie…" he begged.

"No tell me!" I insisted, my heart thundering in my chest,

"I love you…" He whispered and looked me in the face.

It seemed as though my heart stopped in my chest…he _loved _me. The giant man who had held my secret affections for years loved me and all I could do to stand there but then again there was not anything else to do. I was torn with the three options, of jumping for joy, crying for joy and fainting from surprise. There was no way to know the exact reaction to have at a time like this. I loved him back of course but to hear his sudden declaration left me stunned and wordless.

Much to his disappointment, "Say something I just told you I love you and if anything happened to you I…" he cried his eyes moist.

I blinked, having no time to respond when he lifted me into his arms and kissed me deeply. The embrace was crushing and warm and God I loved it. He lifted me up into his arms and I sat on his lap cuddling him. His big eyes wide and tearful as he clutched me for fear I would be taken from him. I did not know how to react all I knew was that I did not ever want to be let go. I now knew what Christine had meant when she said that love was complicated as I nestled into his arms and snuggled into his midsection. It was soft and squishy due to his chubbiness, and so warm that it actually made me sleepy. I would have fallen right to sleep if it had not been for the fact that he was squashing me into him far too tightly for my comfort. I tried to wriggle away but he just held tighter to me. So tight that I nearly suffocated beneath the gripping weight of his embrace and I squeaked in pain. That seemed to be enough for him to lose his hold and I was now quite comfy. Or rather I would have been had it not been for all the noise he was making.

He was sobbing, bracing me in his arms as though he wanted me to be a part of him. I heard his cries, like that of a wounded animal, a bear or no perhaps a lion with a thorn in his big paw. I patted his chest and stroked his belly trying to shush him but it was no use, the more I soothed the worse he got. To the point of where he was nearly wailing and the only good thing I could think of was that he would eventually cry himself out and or fall asleep from this. But still it broke my heart to hear him so besieged by whatever torment he struggled with.

"Fabious what's the matter?" I asked him, thinking I whispered, "I love you."

He held me tighter, "They can't take you away from me, they just can't!" he sobbed.

"They won't love, I promise." I told him, trying to help.

"You cannot promise that…" he told me, "if they find her here."

"No one will find her here," I told him, "Now hush…all this crying takes it out of you." I wiped his weepy eyes as he nodded.

"Stay?" he asked, his crying dissolved into sniffles.

"Course," I said getting comfortable, and then yawning, "forever."

"I hope so…" he mumbled sleepily.

I suddenly had the very same fear, you see before today when I had been in love losing contact with Fabious did not seem quite as terrible. But now we had something to live for beyond my candy shop and just the minor friends I had come to know and care for. I had someone to call my own and there was no way I could lose that not for anyone. But then I looked into the bedroom and saw them sleeping and my heart just broke all over again for this poor pregnant woman who had never done anyone any harm.

She was snoring as anyone would in her condition, with the birth of twins on the way or more if fate decides. To turn her out would be plain cruel and where she would be then when her only crime was having loved a man who was not as handsome as the polite world would like. Her heart was in the right place as it should be and now having a taste of what she felt in this moment. It made sense that she would put herself in danger for the man she loved. I would do the same if it was called for when it came to my best friend and then I realized that I loved Fabious back. In that moment I knew what she felt the most for the man she loved. She would do anything for him and now that I thought about it she was not wrong to love him. Love was life, hence the expression the love of one's life. Now as I looked at him and her and rested in the arms of my beloved I understood why he wanted so badly to be loved. It wasn't about what he deserved or did not, it was just basic. The need to be loved and to love in return was the same as food, water and rest, vital to survival.

I snuggled him and settled into his massive snoring body, closing my eyes I thought of the couple staying with us. I relaxed into his arms and then I fell asleep for what I hoped would be the first of many nights with him and me together sleeping just like this. But then I thought of Christine, I could not let Christine suffer for a love she could not help. It was pure and honest and soon she would be mother to his child it seemed. It was just nature to love and to mate, whether you were an oddity or a normy, you were a human being. And so I would protect this normy with my beloved, for it was thanks to her that we had each other. Her arrival had prompted his confession which otherwise would have remained unsaid for who knows how long. And just like me and Fabious, she had the right to be human and the right to love whomever, wherever she pleased. It was not just her right, it was simple human nature.


	25. Chapter 24: One Big Happy Family

Chapter 24

One Big Happy Family

**Christine's POV**

There are certain moments in life that one never forgets, one of them being the birth of one's children. I certainly now, looking down at the bundles in my arms there was no way I could ever forget. The morning they were born I was five months pregnant with them and Erik was out job hunting. My belly was swollen beyond belief, I had no idea I could get this big in my life. Multiples or not, this was just ridiculous! Mattie was my constant companion and rapidly becoming my dearest companion. There was no way to describe how grateful I was for her care in my condition, I was swollen and heavy and tired almost to the point I was in an almost continuous state of either listless waking or dead slumber.

I preferred the second one, the first one was true misery at its best. I got migraines, light and sound hurt me and I just wanted it to be night again so I could sleep. In the second state I was known to black out in middle of the day and wake only in the late, late hours of the evening to Erik sitting by my bed to feed me. All I could stomach was bread and water, I desperately wanted to eat but I couldn't stomach it. It was, to be frank, miserable and I hated it. The only thing I could do was remember the reason I was like this was because I was going to be a mother soon and so I had to endure. I was glad I was having multiples so that I would never have to go through this again. I had always wanted two children, one son one daughter to make the perfect family complete and my life with Erik finally begin. I remember the day they were born and it was nothing like I expected, for now it was a beautiful day.

Bright and warm, the sun glowing so bright that it might have made me go blind if I opened my eyes. The date was the 1st of June and exactly seven months to the time I had left Raoul to be with Erik, six months since we had married. It was, to be truthful the most beautiful summer day I had seen in years and it made me sad that I could not be outside to enjoy it. But on the bright side of things, I had a window where if I looked out I could see the beach and hear the waves sloshing and crashing about in all its pristine blueness reminding me that my babies would be born in the summertime to this golden weather and I would be able to enjoy the end of it with them. I imagined my children, sons or daughters or both walking along that beach with Erik the way father and I used to do. Barefoot with the grainy sand tickling in-between our toes while we sucked sweet frozen cream and munched on strawberries and biscuits and tuna fish sandwiches while slurping lemonade.

The children would climb into my lap and Erik would tell them stories of the far-off lands he had visited while they made sandcastles in the golden earth. It was indeed a most wonderful dream, and I could just see it when I watched the surf out my window and heard the gulls cawing to one another in conversation. I wondered what they were discussing so intently for they are very noisy indeed. I suppose it was the beauty of this day they flew about in and a smile spread across my face at the thought that the first morning my family had together might be just as lovely as this one. My babies kicked and I ran a soothing hand over my huge belly to calm them, wondering what they would look like when they arrived. The more I thought of it the more anxious I became to see them but I had to be patient as impatient as I felt.

I just had to keep telling myself that it would be time sooner than I knew and then Erik and I would have a home of our own. A little home with our little family to start the rest of our lives. We were currently living in the apartment above the candy shop with Mattie and the giant who she called Fabious. Erik and I had offered to leave after the two of us found some form of gainful employment but they wouldn't hear of it. In fact the idea of us leaving was insulting to them. If she had been taller Mattie would have slapped me, but of course being so short she just whacked my knee in protest for the very idea of going away from her while the giant man had chocked on his own spit and looked as if he had just been punched in the gut by a ten-pound fist made of cement or steel whichever was heavier at the moment. The hurt looks on their face made me feel awful but to be fair this house was quite small and we were due to have children any day now. Still I wanted to apologize for any offence I had caused to them, not wanting to appear ungrateful when my feelings were just the opposite.

"No, no!" Mattie cried out, "You mustn't leave it would be far too lonely after all this time!"

"But," I started and was immediately cut off by the giant.

"No 'buts'," he said gruffly, "Even if you _were_ bothering us, which you _aren't_ it's far too dangerous for someone like you out there besides."

Now it was Erik's turn to get annoyed; "Now see here, we appreciate everything you have done for us but we are about to have children and it'd be too crowded with all of us here."

Mattie smiled, undeterred by Erik's temper, "but _of course_ it would be." She agreed happily.

"Exactly so I really think it best if as soon as the children are born Christine and I would be on our way."

"Yes on your way upstairs." Mattie smiled at us.

"I beg your pardon?" I stammered, blinking rapidly.

"There is a three bedroom loft above our house," Fabious explained. "It's our guest house but under the circumstances and seeing as you are friends of Mattie we are prepared to move you in there."

They took our stunned silence as gratitude and helping me to my feet (for my belly made it impossible to stand on let alone see them) they guided us up to the loft where they intended for us to stay. It was cozy enough, and cheerful with a small kitchen and washroom and three large bedrooms taking up most of the space. The walls were painted a plain kind of light brown only slightly darker than the ecru of my own pale skin. There was a sofa on one end and an old and no doubt out of tune piano on the other that looked as though it hadn't been played in ages and the carpet on the floors was an ugly mossy green that reminded me of Erik's tonics. There were no paintings on the wall and save for a floral vase and the tattered 'welcome' mat the whole home was devoid of decoration. Simple plain and bare, most people would have found it ugly but I simply adored it! I waddled around the room, imaging what it would be like to be in my little home with the man I loved. Our little ones playing with me in the kitchen and perhaps a cat or dog or some sort of fuzzy companion lying in wait by the door for Erik to come home and scratch its head. The couch seated four people and I imagined myself serving tea to guests on Sundays while my children.

"I know it's not your room at the opera, but…" Mattie trailed off.

"You're right…" I told her, "it's better."

Mattie's eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Oh yes!" I exclaimed happily and she beamed.

They would still be in their finery read the bible before we went to the park and have our picnic play with our little ones and go home to tuck them in. Erik doing the girls me the boy for as the saying goes, 'mama's boy' and 'daddy's girl.' When we had both sung them to sleep, we would be alone for some private time where we would make love and so to bed. I could already see portraits of my family and me on every inch of the walls and pots and pans in the sink soaking the remains of a family dinner away for Sunday brunch. I could hear our children's laughter and myself singing as my little ones and I listened to Erik play the old piano. There was a small fireplace in the loft with 'home is where the heart is' engraved on its white mantle. I couldn't have agreed more and I felt my eyes well up at all the memories we could have in this place. I turned to Erik who had turned and was accepting a big hug from the giant obviously relieved to have one burden taken off his shoulders.

I turned to thank them when I felt my knees give way underneath me and I collapsed on the carpet. I heard my husband cry out and then I knew nothing else until I opened my eyes again and was in the only room that had a double bed. It would be my room with Erik I suppose when the children arrived. I remembered after a moment that my friends had given me a place to stay. This thought would make me feel better until I had to vomit again and be reminded of my misery. I was so sick and achy and the cool darkness of the room made me shiver and I longed for the heat of the summer son and it was so bright just outside the closed drapes of my window. My stomach hurt badly and had been all that day. Laying in the bed I had no idea what was in store for me, in the not so distant future. It was on that same day that my little ones were born I had thrown up for what must have been the tenth time that day and Mattie came in to wipe it up. She stood me to my feet and changed the urine-soaked bedsheets again before taking me out of my sopping clothes and pulling me to the bathroom.

After settling me in the tub she left me to my own devices and called up for more bedclothes while I broke down and cried. Hearing my sobs, my little friend came in and seeing my distress began to pat my shoulder with her child-sized hand in an awkward attempt at comfort. I felt so bad and there was something wet ooze out from between my legs and then a sharp ache in the pit of my belly worse than anything I had ever felt before. It was a dull, but steadily intensifying pain that seemed to be progressing slowly to an unbearable level. The pain was so sharp, so harsh that I squeezed my eyes shut groaning. Rubbing my belly did no good and only made it worse, the slightest movement felt like someone was twisting my insides with a bottle-opener and driving a nail through me with a pounding hammer. Like a physical beating from the hulking lumberjack, coming home to his busty, plump cow of a wife. Father used to tell me of the yodeling lumberjacks of Sweden who scaled the mighty mountains to chop down huge trees, so tall and thick that one could see the whole country from the high point.

Then they would haul the huge logs home on their lumpy soldiers looking like Victor Hugo's hunchback down to their little wooden cabins with white steam from the flaming stove billowing out in white puffs of smoke. The man would kick open the door, now missing a chunk of wood from slamming into the wall one too many times and he slugged the heavy load down and kissed his fat bearded wife, nibbling on her facial hair. Before discovering that his horror that his dinner was not made, and flying into a rage, punching her in the face with his calloused boulder-sized fists. I shuddered thinking about how much that would hurt, which was why Daddy had told me never to marry a hulking man with too much muscle and too little brain. Not only would he hurt me but the babies would be just as huge and brutish as their father. Being a child I told him that men were yucky anyways but I had always taken his advice to heart, even now when I'm a married woman I'd listened to my father.

I had married the opposite although Erik was indeed finely built as well as a brilliant man but to look at him you would never know. His skin was so thinly stretched and pale that he looked scrawny as a wood-shaving. But when I touched him underneath that thin membrane of skin, stretched too far over his poor bones was a wall of solid muscle corded and rippling with every movement. He was tall and long and skeletal and I assumed the birth of our children would be easier with the size of the lover I had chosen to father them with. It was a fallacy in every way! The pain was so great that my sobs grew louder, I realized what was happening but instead of feeling my anticipated joy I felt agony. A great pulsing throb between my legs as if it were stretching and then I saw white liquid coming out which meant that my children were coming whether I was ready or not.

"Shush Christine…" she whispered patting me heavily so that her hand made a light slapping nose.

"Mattie something is wrong it hurts…" I fretted leaning forward to ease the pressure on my body, it did help a little.

"Hold on I'll get the doctor." She said eyes widening.

"No… don't leave me like this." I pleaded, terrified to be alone.

"I will get your husband." She told me gently, then hollered down the stairs, "Hey Daddy it's time!"

I heard Erik running up the stairs, asking in short breaths where I was and he and ran in to the lavatory his mask falling off, dangling from only the right ear till it flopped to the ground where he left it in his panic. He grabbed me out of the tub, not even bothering to dress me he yanked the covers off the bed and laid me down on the sheets naked, dripping and weepy. The pain nigh-on unbearable by this point I began to scream. The door creaked open and I knew that Mattie had run for the doctor, I could only hope he'd get there soon but it was several hours before the man would arrive and by that time I had lost the ability to fight the pain. When the ghoulish doctor arrived I was no longer screaming, but I was curled up in a fetal position with streaks of leftover tears and I was gasping for breath. Clutching my breast close to me and leaning on my aching belly while Erik tried to soothe me by massaging my back, but it was no use my back felt like it was throbbing, pulsing with the pain every movement as if my whole body was contracting.

I heard a high pitched nasally voice saying, "Turn her over the child is coming now." Erik obeyed shushing me as he rolled me over.

I was met with the sight of a man who was pale as the moon and far skinnier than was healthy. He had pointy ears, coal black eyes that glinted with mischief in a sort of boyish way that I might have found charming were I not splitting in half. His hands had long Ebony nails that looked pointy and sharp as he pulled my legs apart exposing my privates to the four people in the room in a most immodest way which made me feel uncomfortable but no one was concerned about that at the moment as Erik wrapped his freezing hand around mine and held on like a shackle. I looked into his eyes, and seeing his very real terror made the mistake of looking down. What I saw was disgusting to be honest, it looked like a slimy bubble was coming out of my center and the man, this doctor what's-his-name was grinning with fang-like teeth reminiscent of a vampire. I looked at Erik's face and saw his fear and felt my own panic rising.

"What's going on?" I asked the man with the pale face.

Pale Face smiled at me, "It's time," he said and pulled my legs apart saying, "Time to push." He said.

"No…" I pleaded not wanting the pain to get any worse.

"Shush," Fabious told me, "relax…"

"That's right, your body will do all the work." Mattie told me.

How right she was, whether I wanted to or not the female body was designed for this and so my womb started to open and close, the pain splitting me in half and I moaned as I gripped Erik's hand. Pushing, pulsing, throbbing and heaving as a small round, dark covered head came out of me and was lifted away from my body to leave me a moment's peace as the doctor sent for a basin of warm water and towels. He lifted my baby, and washing the child handed Erik the baby who looked at him through eyes of moonlight and he stroked the black fuzz on the baby's head. Before handing them to the doctor, when all I wanted to do was hold my baby but seemed to not be allowed to because the other would be coming at any time now. All I could do was watch helplessly as everyone else cared for my child. The still naked baby whimpered and squirmed as it was taken from Erik to be cut loose from my body and handed off to Mattie who washed the child and then, to my horror slapped my firstborn child on its rump.

"What are you doing?" I cried in shock as the child admitted a loud wail.

"Do not worry angel that is a procedure to cause the baby to expand the lungs." Erik explained and I calmed down a little.

"What is—ahhh!"

"Not now dear the second one is coming," Pale Face told me and it started all over again.

By the time the second one was over I was so exhausted that I just wanted to rest, during it Erik and Pale Face had to keep rousing me from the sleep that made me feel like lead. I wanted to snore, to have a good long sleep it was the hardest thing I had ever done trying to keep my eyes open. The pain was tiring and my arms felt like they weighed a ton on either side, my legs were tight and numb from being spread so long and the parts of them I could feel stung with horrid cramps. My body still did all the work the baby crowned naturally and then came into the world just like the first and was cleaned the same way while I barely kept my eyes open. I fell asleep without meaning to, snoring for what felt like a few seconds before the pain started again and my v eyes snapped awake again. Hearing voices downstairs it registered with me that Dr. Pale Face was in the living room having tea with Fabious while Mattie and Erik looked after the two babies in the dresser drawers laid on the floor to substitute for bassinets. I moaned and Erik looked to me, smiling that gorgeous smile of his, the one part of his face (besides his eyes) that was an indicator of how handsome he would have been had he been a normal man.

"Angel I was wondering when you were going to wake…" he said gently.

"Mmm, Erik…pain…" I moaned.

"What pain?"' he asked smoothing my hair, "you're all right it's probably just residual."

"No…hurts…doctor… please." I panted.

Erik nodded and sent Fleck down the stairs where the vampire man reappeared with Squelch who lit lamps as he rushed to my side and opened my legs going paler (if that was humanly possible) as he turned to Erik with wide eyes. I did not hear what they said, the words gargled from my tiredness and the pain but then again I didn't need to because I knew what was going on after the night I had and I knew my body had given me a brief reprieve before pushing forward another child into the world and this time I was having trouble my exhausted muscles would not do the work and I had to force them to do what they needed to. It only made them hurt worse and then the child turned and the worst thing that could have happened did. The baby got stuck in my opening and could not go out even with my pushing, I began to panic. I had heard of children dying from this and if that happened…if I knew the grief of the childless mother I would surely take my own life. I would not be childless but even to lose one baby would be too much for nothing can replace the loss of a child. No matter how many other children you have that one you lost leaves you with a thousand what-ifs that I just couldn't handle. Not something I wanted to bear and not something Erik could handle after the death of his first born when he already believed he could not have healthy children.

The child turned sideways and my heart thudded to a stop in my chest for a moment, but then Mathilde reached in between my legs and pulled my third child an hour younger than the pair out. I was panting as the child was washed and cleaned and then I felt something coming and I couldn't believe what was happening to me. I had heard of other women having four children at once but I never thought it would be happening to me. I didn't want this I was too tired I just wanted it to be over I had three children that was already more than I had hoped for but when Erik did something he did it to the fullest even get me pregnant. My body did the work as slowly as it could because I had no strength to help it along but this child was good to me. Their birth was as easy as drifting into peaceful sleep and though I was aware of my birthing it was so gentle that I slept through it almost. My wakefulness lasting enough to weakly help the child out of me and the moment I felt the peace of the afterbirth I fell dead asleep for a moment before Dr. Pale Face's voice roused me.

"Congratulations Mrs. Mansart, you are finally done!" The doctor told me.

"Mmm… gender…" I mumbled.

"Two of each…" Mattie told me while Squelch hugged me.

"Erik… want them…" I mumbled, and he brought them to me looking at the girls I cried they had their fathers hair and eyes,

"Aria Melody…" I named the first and Erik smiled as I said to him, "Your turn… what's her sister's name?"

Erik looked down at the black-haired silver-eyed child and with tears in his eyes said, "Luna Ebony…" I smiled softly as Fleck and Squelch brought the boys to us. This time Erik went first, looking at the strawberry blond little boy, said, "Alexander René."

I looked into my own eyes of the second child and as I had done with the others I kissed him and despite having my eyes he looked at me with the seriousness of his father. But then he smiled with the same dimples as my late father and the name came out without a second thought. "Gustave Erik." With that I closed my eyes unable to fight the sleep tearing at me.

The last thing I heard was Squelch's voice in a soft rumble, "Thank you Doctor Gangle." Before the lights went out for me and my life really began.

**A/N sorry I haven't updated in like EVER my inspiration was gone but its back now tell me what you think?**


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